Eternity
by Xenobia
Summary: Summary: Takes place after the events of season 2 of the anime. Ciel awakens to his new life filled with questions that only his butler can answer for him. Sebastian helps him adjust to being reborn a demon, while other factions enter a power struggle. This story will have some plot elements from both the manga and the anime. Yaoi, het.
1. Chapter 1

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 1: Introduction

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Grief. Creatures like him were never meant to experience it. Not this way, and certainly not for a human. It was acceptable to mourn the loss of the soul he'd worked so hard to groom. It was acceptable to lament his eternal loss of freedom. After all, demonic bargains were made in the first place because a soul freely given was the best, the most intoxicating feast. The divine sustenance lacked potency if taken by force. Once devoured, the soul becomes a part of the demon forever, and the gates of Heaven are shut to it. Consuming an unwilling soul was like eating from the trash.

Souls weren't necessarily a requirement for survival, but they were a slice of paradise that demons could never experience, any other way. They imbued the consumer with power, wisdom and life experiences. The more souls a demon consumed, the more powerful it became. It was an irresistible temptation, a curse put upon his kind for their demonic nature. A demon could very well live on a starvation diet indefinitely, but he or she would be eternally weak as a result—and easy prey to more powerful supernatural beings.

Knowing that he would eventually be rewarded with a soul as pure and strong as Ciel's made Sebastian's indentured servitude worth it. Now, he would never get that reward. The soul was lost to him, and his odd circumstances now had him bound to his young master for all eternity—or until one of them expired. He was certain that would be him, because he would never allow Ciel to be destroyed—not while there was strength left in him to defend him.

His master was now a demon. Sebastian served him air for his tea and meals, because it was a comforting, familiar ritual to the young lord. He saw to his needs as always, and while it was still Ciel, the purity of his soul was lost. It was like a piece of him was missing, and it troubled Sebastian even more than his unfortunate, permanent indenture to him. He could still enter contracts with other humans, and so could Ciel—if and when he so chose. However, the Earl of Phantomhive would always be his true lord and master, and _his_ orders would take priority above even those given to him by further human contracts.

"I'm doubly the servant, now." The demon smirked, his ruby gaze burning with the irony of it. There were none so enslaved as he was.

* * *

"You rang, young master?"

Ciel looked up at the sound of his butler's deep, silken voice. Sebastian gazed down at him with calm ruby eyes, the handsome features relaxed. The long, black bangs framed his pale face perfectly. The style he wore it in suited him, and there were plenty of people of both genders that sighed after him, whenever he passed by.

He was still the same devilishly attractive creature he always was, on the surface. Something was different about him, though, and it was difficult to say just what it was. It bothered Ciel, and he couldn't be certain if it was just his perception that had changed, or if something was truly off with Sebastian.

"I can't sleep," murmured the young lord.

He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. His patch was lying on the bedside table, but he didn't reach for it. He no longer truly needed it. The demon brand within his right eye had healed with his transition, only revealing itself whenever he gave Sebastian an order or called for him.

"Would you like some warm milk?"

Ciel looked up at his companion, suspecting a joke. "That isn't funny."

Sebastian's expression was sincere. "It wasn't intended to be. Just because our bodies don't require food and drink for sustenance, doesn't mean we can't partake of it. You've seen me drink tea and wine on occasion, young master."

Ciel hadn't even considered that, but then, he was still trying to adjust. There was an awful stillness inside that he just couldn't get used to.

"Master?"

He looked up at the demon butler. "Then bring me some warm milk, if you think it will help."

Sebastian bowed. "Would you like honey?"

Ciel nodded. "Please."

"Right away, young master."

Ciel watched as his servant turned and began to walk across the expansive bedroom to the door. He had strength, grace and height that Ciel would never obtain, himself. An ugly feeling of resentment boiled within the boy at the thought.

"Sebastian."

The graceful steps halted, and the handsome demon half-turned to regard him. "Yes?"

Ciel swallowed hard, before speaking. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Sebastian stared at him silently for a moment, the ruby gaze aglow in the moonlit darkness. He smiled subtly. "Perhaps."

With that softly uttered word, Sebastian left him alone in the room, closing the door behind him on his way out. Ciel bent his thin legs and wrapped his arms around them, resting back against the pillows. Why _hadn't _Sebastian killed him, before he awoke? If he would have done that, he would be free of him, and Ciel would be dead now, instead of this…thing…he'd become. The boy's eyes flashed red in the darkness, exactly the way his butler's did when his emotions or adrenaline ran high.

_"I wanted to be sure,"_ Sebastian had said to him, when he'd asked why he didn't kill him after being told his fate.

But _why_ did he want to be sure? Was devouring his soul so important to Sebastian that it was worth risking this fate of eternal servitude? Did he do it to punish Ciel for binding him permanently? But that made no sense; if Sebastian had just finished him before he awoke from the transition, he would be free now.

"Maybe he's just punishing me because he didn't get to devour my soul," sighed the young Earl. Even that didn't seem right, though. Sebastian could be cold, calculating and cruel, but he wasn't petty.

The door opened quietly, and Ciel looked up to see his butler returning with a tray and a china cup of steaming drink. Sebastian offered him one of his quiet, attractive smiles as he closed the distance and eased the tray onto the boy's lap, after he straightened his legs out.

"I hope young master finds the temperature and taste to his liking," murmured Sebastian.

Ciel picked up the cup and he sipped delicately. It was almost a relief to find that the taste was as pleasant in his current condition as it had been as a human. In fact, it tasted even _better_. He no longer had thirst to quench or hunger to appease, but it was enjoyable, all the same. He nodded at his waiting butler.

"This will do. Goodnight, Sebastian. I'll summon you if I need anything further."

Sebastian bowed. "Goodnight, young master."

* * *

Ciel soon found himself unable to sleep at all. With each day that passed, the amount of sleep he got at night lessened, until he could barely accomplish more than a light nap. He felt a maddening sense of restlessness and exhaustion at once, all the time. Finally, two weeks after his transition, he summoned his butler to the library and confronted him about it.

"What's happening to me?" he demanded bluntly.

Sebastian's crimson gaze was neutral on him. "You've become a demon, my lord."

"I'm all too aware of that," snapped the boy. "But I can't sleep at all anymore. I'm tired all the time, but I feel like…almost like I need to sneeze."

Sebastian's mouth quirked briefly, and it infuriated him. Ciel slammed a hand down on the desk and stood up, glaring at his servant with eyes that were now glowing red, with slit pupils. "It isn't funny!"

The butler sobered, gazing back at him with maddening calm. "My apologies, young master. It was your description that amused me, nothing more." He crossed the room and he loomed over the smaller demon. "What do you want me to say? What comforting lie can I give you, that would change anything?"

Ciel faltered, and his eyes returned to their usual, cerulean blue color. His voice came out sounding small and helpless; like his body. For a moment, he was exactly as he appeared to be: a confused, helpless child. "I just want to know why I feel this way."

Sebastian's cool expression softened, ever so slightly. "You want comfort. I understand."

Ciel stared at him, a curse forming on his lips without being voiced.

"As I said," Sebastian told him, "you are a demon now; a new, weak demon in a child's body. You feel the way you do because your remembered humanity longs for sleep, and sustenance. We demons require neither, once we've recovered from birth or transition. However, in order to grow stronger, faster and more aware, we _must_ consume souls."

It was precisely what Ciel feared the most; discovering that he would have to become just like the creature he'd bartered his soul to. Never mind that Sebastian was truly the only one in the world he could trust completely. The demon fed him, bathed him, dressed him, and nursed him when he fell sick. He was his protector, his companion, his loyal confidant. Even with all that, the fact was he'd named Sebastian after his dog, to be his pet until he died, and Sebastian served only because he was after his soul.

But that was all changed, now. Sebastian wouldn't have his soul, nor could Ciel die and join his family in the afterlife. They were both cursed by what he had become. His soul hadn't been "saved" by this transition; it had merely been trapped in the body of a different demon…his _own_ body.

"Master, you must understand," Sebastian said softly, cutting into Ciel's troubled thoughts. "Your condition won't improve until you've fed. It may even worsen. I was never born of human flesh, so I can't speak from personal experience. I would advise you not to take the chance."

Ciel looked at him with an unhappy frown. "You want me to eat someone's soul."

Sebastian lowered his gaze humbly, ever the proper servant—at least, when it suited him. "What _I_ want is irrelevant, young master. What you must do in order to recuperate and grow stronger is not."

Ciel felt his chest tightening up; a symptom of a condition he didn't think possible, in this demon body. He started to cough, and he covered his mouth with a fist. He placed his other hand flat over his chest, willing his lungs to cooperate and draw air without a struggle.

"Why…did you wait to…tell me this?"

"I wanted to give you time," answered the butler. "Time to come to terms."

Ciel looked up at him when he caught his breath, staring at that perfect, porcelain visage suspiciously. He may as well have been a statue with glass eyes and human hair, dressed in a butler suit. "Is that true, or did you want to wait and see if I would weaken and die?"

Sebastian lifted his gaze, meeting Ciel's eyes. "Perhaps a part of me did, but I must assist and protect my master; even if it would be easier for me not to."

If he weren't feeling so poor and so desolate, Ciel might have been tempted to roll his eyes at the typically Sebastian-like, obscure answer. He coughed again, and this time, he couldn't stop. Sweat broke out on his brow and he gripped the edge of his desk with one hand as he fought to catch his breath. Sebastian was at his side in an instant, lifting him into his arms with ease despite Ciel's weak protests.

"You've fatigued yourself and upset your asthma, young master. I'll cancel the day's appointments and advise the household that you aren't to be disturbed."

"I'm…fine," wheezed the young earl, pushing ineffectively against the butler's chest as Sebastian began to carry him out of the study. "P-put me down!"

"No."

Ciel stared at him with wide eyes, his cough temporarily abating in his shock. Sebastian's ruby eyes, so close to his own, looked at him and a smirk adorned the sensitive lips. "Have you forgotten? I can refuse your orders when they endanger your well-being, young master."

Fatigued from lack of rest, a hunger he couldn't name and the sheer hopelessness of his situation, Ciel found himself putting his arms around Sebastian's neck and dropping his argument. There was something comforting about the strong warmth of the preternatural body cradling him so protectively, and he sighed and tried to hold back his coughs.

* * *

Sebastian undressed his young charge and he got him into a nightgown, before tucking him into bed. "Rest now," he advised. "I'll have a broth prepared for you, and an herbal soak to help open up your lungs."

"How am I…supposed to rest?" coughed Ciel.

"You _can_ sleep, young master," promised Sebastian, "you've just been trying to do it the human way. Demons sleep to refresh ourselves, but we don't require it."

Ciel sighed. "Then tell me how to stop sleeping 'the human way'."

Sebastian smiled at him. "Stop trying so hard. We don't 'fall' asleep, we call it to us."

"I'm not in the mood to be teased," warned the boy.

"Of course not," agreed Sebastian. "I'm being honest with you. If you want to sleep, you have to will it. Don't wait for it to come to you. If you like, I could bring my violin and play for you while you try it. The music may soothe you."

Ciel sighed and looked toward the nearest window. "No, but please shut the curtains. It's too bright in here."

"As you wish." Sebastian got up and one by one, he closed the curtains to block out the sunlight.

"Sebastian?"

Something in the tone of that call gave him pause, and the demon turned to regard his reclined master. "Yes?"

Ciel was watching him with tired, vulnerable blue eyes. "Do demons dream?"

Sebastian inclined his head. "Sometimes, yes."

"I…haven't dreamed, since this happened."

Sebastian gave him a quiet, reassuring smile. "You haven't slept as a demon, yet. It will happen, young master." He crossed the room to the expansive bed, looking down at he ailing boy. "Your cough has improved. Shall I still fetch the herbal remedy?"

Ciel shook his head. "No, the tightness is going away, now. I just…I…" He blinked and he looked away.

"What is it, young master?" Sebastian kept his tone encouraging and gentle, as he'd been taught by Soma. The Indian prince had taught him that sometimes, boys Ciel's age needed to be treated like the children they were, and comfort was the best approach.

"Are you sure," Ciel looked at him again, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, "I have to eat souls?"

Sebastian nodded, and he reached out to brush the boy's bangs away from his eyes. "I'm sure."

"But you said we don't really need to," persisted Ciel.

The butler's eyes began to glow, subtly revealing his true nature. "Do you want to feel like this forever? Do you want to _live_ like this forever, trapped in a child's body?"

Ciel's breath quickened, and he coughed again before answering miserably. "No. I was prepared to die. I was prepared to lose my soul to you, if it even exists, but to be this sickly and helpless forever…I…I can't."

Sebastian relaxed. "Good. I'll help you."

Ciel's eyes flashed with hope. "If I do this…consume souls…I can grow up?"

The butler nodded. "With time. The power of the demon is to mold oneself into the ideal form. You can command your body to continue growing as it would if you were still human, which means you could age up with your Lady Elizabeth, if you so choose. You could possibly even still marry her, though your chances of producing offspring with her are—"

"I won't be marrying Elizabeth," interrupted Ciel, "or anyone else. She'd just age and die and I'll stay young forever. I'd have to hide what I am from her, too."

Sebastian nodded. "Yes."

"But you're saying I _can_ grow up, if I consume souls."

Again, the butler nodded. "You can. You aren't the first child in history to be reborn as a demon, young master."

"I see." Ciel looked away, and the tears welled up in his eyes again. "Sebastian…can demons love?"

Sebastian hesitated, staring down at the tragic figure of his cursed master. He leaned over the bed, and on some strange impulse, he kissed the tears from the corners of Ciel's eyes.

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

He spent the rest of the night pacing he confines of his personal quarters, wondering what had driven him to say such a rash and foolish thing to his master. It wasn't a lie, of course. Sebastian had once loved someone, long ago. Another demon got her soul, and that was that. He couldn't even recall her name, but he still remembered her beautiful jade eyes. He hadn't felt that way about anyone since, though he'd come to feel a certain fondness for some individuals, and he'd developed a tolerance to the annoying antics of others. He respected Ciel, and he was very protective of him, but that was only natural.

He served his young master because he had to. Comforting him was part of that bargain. That was all.

* * *

"Sebastian, I want to die."

That simple announcement, uttered so calmly as he dressed him, made Sebastian frown. He looked up at the boy he knelt before, searching his youthful features for some sign that he was making a joke in poor taste. Ciel looked utterly resolved.

"You know I can't kill you, master," reminded the butler warily, "nor can I assist you in killing yourself. In fact, if you're sincere about this, I can't let you out of my sight."

Ciel rolled his eye. The other was concealed beneath his patch, for appearance sake. "I don't mean literally, you fool. If I'm to get any stronger, I need you to teach me to…devour souls." He swallowed, his expression briefly betraying his inner angst, before he went on. "Even if I start to mature at a normal rate, people are going to ask questions. I don't know how long I can hide the truth from the people who know me well."

"Like your Lady Elizabeth," reasoned Sebastian in understanding.

"Yes…like Lizzy. There's also the dilemma of Her Majesty. She'll want me to continue to serve her, and the crown. I doubt I can do that, under these circumstances. Eventually, people will start to question why I don't age. It will stop once I'm mature, won't it?"

Sebastian nodded. "Yes. We stop aging once we reach adulthood. Some of us were never 'children' to begin with."

"I thought so." Ciel took a deep breath, and then he let it out again. "It's best if I disappear from England and take on an alias. For that to happen, we'll need to stage my death. I'm already sickly—I always _have_ been. When the winter comes, we'll put out word that my asthma acted up and became pneumonia. It won't be difficult for people to believe I succumbed to it."

Sebastian lowered his gaze in thought. The idea had its merits, certainly. There were also drawbacks. "What about your estate, and the servants?"

"I trust them to keep a secret," answered Ciel. "I'll leave Tanaka in charge of the estate, until I can return as a Phantomhive descendant and reclaim it, years from now. Hopefully, I'll be an adult by then and I can pass as my own distant cousin from France."

Sebastian smirked. "You want to pretend to be your own cousin? We aren't having an identity crisis, are we?"

"I'm serious."

He sobered. "Of course, young master. It seems you've put a great deal of thought on this."

"I have," agreed Ciel. "I was up all night, thinking about it. Your sleeping trick didn't work."

"It may take some practice," encouraged Sebastian. "I'll teach you."

Ciel stared at the fireplace as the butler finished dressing him. "Good. Even the illusion of sleep is better than nothing, at this point. I was…overly tired last night, and emotional. Don't mistake my behavior for weakness."

Sebastian smiled quietly to himself. Ciel was back to calculating and plotting. Perhaps young master's soul was still there, after all. Even if he couldn't consume it, he found the thought comforting.

"We may need some additional outside help, to make your 'death' seem more authentic."

Ciel nodded. "Do whatever needs to be done, Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

_A couple of months later:_

William T. Spears was always punctual. He always followed the rules, he was passionate about his work to the point of obsession, and he silently worshipped the Shinigami he was about to visit. Undertaker was officially retired, but he was practically a legend, and highly respected despite his deserter status.

William approached the door to the funeral home, and he rang the bell. The hour was late and the shop was closed up for the night, but the Undertaker lived in the basement. He waited for a few moments, before trying again. He was about to give up, when he heard the familiar voice call out from inside.

"Who might be calling at this hour?"

William unconsciously smoothed his hands over his suit and adjusted his glasses. "It's William Spears, Undertaker. Please forgive the intrusion, but I'm required to report to you on the matter of a death event."

There was no answer, and Will frowned with disappointment. He respected the Undertaker too much to press the matter, and he turned to go. "I can see you're busy. I'll leave you to your—"

The door unlocked and opened, and William stopped and turned. He nearly smiled at the sight of the tall, black-clad funeral director, but he schooled his expression into one of respectful neutrality. He gave a little bow, his green-gold gaze briefly lingering on the impossibly long, pale hair spilling out from beneath Undertaker's black top-hat. The contrast of silver-white against the black of his garments was distracting, but not in a bad way.

Undertaker smiled broadly at William, displaying his straight, white teeth. He offered his hand in greeting, and the long black nails pressed gently into Will's skin as the Reaper dispatcher took it. They shook hands, and Undertaker made a gesture toward the door.

"Won't you come in, Mr. Spears? I was just going over some records."

William nodded. "Thank you, sir." He stepped inside, and the scarred Shinigami joined him and locked up behind them. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"Always," chuckled Undertaker. "Business has been booming in this city, lately. Still, I adore living company, from time to time. The corpses aren't very chatty, you see. There's nothing so boring as a silent audience."

"I see." William smiled a bit. "If only this were a visit of leisure. I'm afraid I'm here on business, though."

"Ah." Undertaker sighed. "Business before pleasure, of course."

William's face heated, and he had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. "Er, yes. Well, there's been a massive train wreck just outside the boundaries of London." He retrieved his report book from within his blazer, and he moistened the tips of his fingers before flipping through the pages. "Seventy-two souls have been collected, tonight."

The Undertaker's brows went up beneath the concealing fringe of his hair—an expression that could only be detected by the way his scalp moved. He whistled softly. "Impressive. I thought I heard the calls of despair in the wind. That's quite a bit of cataloguing for one night."

William nodded. "My team and I managed. My department thought it would be prudent to inform you, seeing as you're the city's most popular funeral director."

"Hmm." Undertaker went to his desk, where a candle burned in a human skull. He looked down at the scroll he'd been studying, and Will frowned with interest. It looked familiar to him, but he didn't want to be rude and try to read over the other death god's shoulder. Undertaker opened a jar sitting on the desk, and he procured two bone-shaped cookies from it. He offered one to William, and the dispatcher took it for politeness sake.

"You've improved in speed and efficiency, Mr. Spears."

He bowed humbly before the praise. "We're quite short-staffed right now, and our biggest concern is seeing to it that all souls are properly collected and catalogued for their journey. The longer it takes for us to reach them, the bigger the chance that some filthy demon might devour these souls or enter a contract with the desperate owners, before we can liberate them."

"Hmph…'filthy demons'." Undertaker seemed to find that amusing, and he chuckled. "You know, Mr. Spears, they have their place in the grand scheme of things, like all of us."

"They're vermin from Hell," insisted Spears with a distasteful scowl, "an affront to creation."

Undertaker shrugged and bit into the cookie he was holding. He munched it thoughtfully and swallowed before answering. "The passion of youth…the conviction. I was once so much like you, William."

For the second time, Will flushed. He smiled softly with pleasure. "To be compared to you on any remote level is an honor, sir."

Undertaker smirked, and Will could feel his hidden gaze on him. "Is it, now? How endearing. Eat your cookie, Mr. Spears."

William obliged without question, though he wasn't fond of baked goods or sweets. He glanced at the scroll on the desk again, and his jaw dropped when he recognized the name written at the top of it.

"Ciel Phantomhive?"

The Undertaker had begun to open a cabinet, and he stopped and turned to look at him—or at the hat rack behind him, it was hard to tell. "What about him, hmm?"

William gestured at the scroll. "Forgive me, but I couldn't help but notice you have a copy of the young Earl's death record on your desk. With all due respect, sir, how did you obtain that?"

The Undertaker smiled broadly at him. "Ah, _that_. Well, it just so happens that I have friends in high…er…low places. Pay it no mind."

"But…this is an official record," blurted William after walking over to the desk and having a closer look. "Only active Reapers are permitted to—"

"You're beginning to bore me," warned Undertaker, his smile growing feral. He steepled his fingertips, the long, black nails tapping. "If you want to know the truth about that record, you need to _entertain_ me; not bore me."

William swallowed, reminding himself that the Undertaker was the only Shinigami in history to retain his death scythe after deserting the Society. Though he acted detached and befuddled most of the time, he was very, very dangerous. There was that, and then there was the fact that even the head departments still held Undertaker in high regard, sometimes collaborating with him when the situation warranted it. Until Undertaker broke any major Reaper laws, he was more or less untouchable.

"What sort of entertainment do you want?" William bowed respectfully.

He tried not to stare at the other Shinigami's half-concealed features. He'd seen them in full once, and he'd never forgotten how beautiful they were. Not even the scar twisting diagonally across Undertaker's face distracted from his astonishing looks. Perhaps that was why he left his bangs so long. Grell had passionately proclaimed that he would never forgive the Undertaker for scarring that beautiful face, but William wondered sometimes if he'd done it on purpose.

"I like jokes."

Will shifted uncomfortably. "Jokes?"

"I have a solution in the back that could clean the wax out of your ears right away, so you can hear better." Undertaker's grin remained predatory. "Of course, if you were human it would also burn through to your brain and melt it into a gooey grey soup. As a Shinigami, you should survive the process. I'll go and fetch it."

"No, that's…quite all right," William assured hastily. He cleared his throat as the Undertaker stopped and regarded him expectantly. "What sort of jokes do you like?"

The older reaper shrugged. "The funny kind. Here, I'll give you an example: What did the maggot say to the blow fly?"

William shook his head in ignorance, combing his fingers through his immaculately groomed, dark hair. "I don't know, sir."

"He said: 'Are you going to finish eating that?'" Undertaker laughed in delight at his own joke, tossing his head back.

His hat tumbled off and landed on the floor behind him, unnoticed. William hastily went to retrieve it, and he nearly smiled at the sight of the silver-haired Shinigami standing in the candlelight, shoulders shaking with mirth. Will stood back up and he brushed the hat off with care, before offering it back to the older death god. Still chuckling, the Undertaker took the hat with muttered thanks and crammed it back on his head.

"Very amusing, sir," said William. "Your sense of humor is as lively as ever."

"Ahh, my." The older Shinigami composed himself, before responding further. He pointed accusingly at William and he clucked his tongue. "You see, that's the trouble with your generation. You don't laugh enough."

William could have told him that Grell Sutcliff laughed enough for all of them, but he wasn't about to contradict his idol. "I'm afraid my sense of humor is dull, compared to yours. What else can I do to entertain you?"

"Hmm, you can't tell a joke, nor appreciate one." Undertaker scratched his chin in thought as he watched the younger man. "That leaves us with only one option. Strip."

William's eyes popped open wide before he could control the reaction. "I…I beg your pardon?"

"The only naked bodies I've seen in an age are mangled, rotting or bloated," explained the Undertaker. "I'd like to see some firm, healthy living flesh for a change. You appear to be in top form, so strip for me."

William blinked and suddenly, Undertaker and the interior of the shop became blurry. His glasses were steaming up from the heat of his flush. He was too curious about that scroll now, though, and he'd been given a direct request from a famous reaper. He started to loosen his tie to comply, blushing from cheekbones to collar, when the Undertaker started to laugh.

It started out as a low, reserved chuckle, and then it rose to a giggle. The Undertaker covered his mouth and coughed. "That's enough, gullible boy. Just watching you squirm was entertainment enough for me. I'll tell you what the death scroll is about."

William stopped with relief, but his blush didn't fade. "What is it, then? Is it the authentic copy from the libraries?"

Undertaker nodded, and he walked over to his desk and took a seat. He motioned the flustered dispatcher over to join him, and he took another cookie from his jar. "This is the 'death record' of Ciel Phantomhive, but something was off about it. An old associate of mine in the head branch sent it to me, requesting that I look over it and give my perspective." He took a bite of his cookie and munched it.

"And?" pressed William with interest, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the document with narrowed, green-gold eyes. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"This record states that Ciel Phantomhive died on May 13th," explained the Undertaker. "But that isn't accurate."

William frowned. "With all due respect, Undertaker, where is your proof?

The Undertaker smiled up at him, and he tapped a finger against his left temple. "Because I foresaw his death, and it occurred a month earlier than that."

William struggled for a way to ask if he could have been mistaken, without offending him. "How could you see his death coming, without an informant?"

Undertaker watched him patiently, and William paled a bit. Of course…he'd forgotten. Undertaker used to _be_ an informant. He'd exchanged that job with the Reapers to take up a very similar one with mortals, here in London.

"Then could someone have altered his cinematic records with a bookmark?" suggested William.

"Someone tried, through different means," answered the Undertaker with a nod, lacing his fingers together over the scroll. "A rebel angel, as you may recall."

"I mean after that," insisted Will. "Could someone have done it again in the past two months?"

Undertaker kept looking at him. "Who could have access to the bookmark and pen to _do_ that? More than likely, this entire report is falsified." He started to chuckle. "Someone in your department lied to all of you, when they filed this report. I personally can't think of any reason why they would do something like that; unless they knew something they weren't telling the rest of you. What do you think, Mr. Spears?"

William mentally reviewed the recent state of affairs, and he felt like a fool when he recalled who filed that report. "Sutcliff. Damn him!" He brought a fist down on Undertaker's desk, and when the older Shinigami's mouth tightened, he quickly uttered and apology and withdrew his curled hand. "Undertaker, have you reported back to the head branch with your findings, yet?"

"I intended to this evening," answered the Undertaker. "Perhaps you could take this back with you, and my report along with it, hmm?" He gestured at the scroll.

"It would be my pleasure, sir." William bowed. "The one thing I don't understand is that we _have_ Ciel Phantomhive's cinematic records on file. That means he must be dead."

"One would think," agreed the Undertaker with a nod.

William's brow furrowed with the strangeness of it all. He still didn't know quite what happened, but the records were proof that his demon didn't get the chance to devour his soul, after all. Grell's actions, however, remained a mystery. "Then why in hell would he bother faking a death report?"

Undertaker shrugged and grinned. "He's an eccentric fellow, Mr. Sutcliff. I find him…amusing."

William snorted. "He's troublesome. Anyhow, thank you very much for your assistance in this endeavor, Undertaker. If you need any help from us when the bodies start coming in, don't hesitate to contact us."

Undertaker rolled up the scroll and handed it over to him. "Oh, I think I can hold the fort. I love it when they keep me busy. Take a cookie for the road, Mr. Spears."

William thanked him and took one of the bone-shaped treats from the jar. He left the Undertaker's shop in a fit of confusion, frustration and anger. Grell Sutcliff. The man was forever a thorn in his side, and he only seemed to get more unstable and unpredictable with each year. William blamed _that_ on the Phantomhive butler, too. Grell's unwholesome obsession with Michaelis was likely involved in this newest weirdness from him, and William intended to find out the truth behind it all.

He glanced down at the scroll in his hand as he walked away from the funeral home. "How and when did you really die, Earl Phantomhive? What is my associate trying to hide?"

Questions, questions, and more questions…and he was overbooked, as it was.

* * *

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 2: A new beginning

* * *

**_Author's note: _****_Part of this chapter has been censored to comply with FFnet's anti (yaoi) sex policies. You can read the full version at Archive of our own and Ygallery, both of which are linked under my profile here_**_. _

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

The elaborate black carriage drove up the path to the two-story, black stone house and stopped out front of it. The driver—a pale man with raven-dark hair, ruby eyes and sculpted, handsome features—hopped down gracefully and opened the carriage door with a bow. A young man still in the boyhood stages of life took the driver's offered hand and stepped out of the carriage with his assistance. The boy put one hand on his top hat to hold it in place as he looked up at the building that was to be his new home.

"It will do," he murmured. Cerulean blue eyes looked up at the driver from beneath dark locks of hair. "Sebastian, bring the bags in while I look around."

The driver bowed to him gracefully from the waist. "Yes, my lord."

While the boy walked up to the house and unlocked the door, the man retrieved the luggage from the back of the carrier, handling large crates that should have taken at least two people to carry with ease. The house was on a hill, well away from the road outside of Paris. The young man entered it with dignity that bespoke noble blood, and he looked around at the shadowed interior and covered furniture with a little sigh. His companion soon joined him, pausing in the doorway with a long trunk balanced on one shoulder.

"I know it's small, young master, but you said yourself that we shouldn't draw attention."

"I did," acknowledged the boy with a nod of his dark head. He removed his hat and placed it on the rack by the door, before turning to regard his adult companion. A forced little smile found its way on his delicate lips as he spoke. "It will take some getting used to, but we'll manage. I suppose I'm just spoiled."

The butler smiled quietly back at him. "I sense young master is laying a trap for me, so I'll decline to agree with him."

The boy smirked. "Well played. Finish putting the luggage away, and I'll remove the covers from the furniture."

"Master, perhaps you shouldn't," suggested the servant. "You may upset your asthma, again. The journey has been tiring on you, and you should get some rest."

"Rest." The boy sighed unhappily, his intense blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "More jokes."

"You're trying too hard," insisted the servant gently. "I'll come and assist you when I finish here. It won't take long. Just please, retire to the master bedroom and lie down."

Evidently too fatigued to argue, the young man walked over to the modular oaken stairs and started up them. His servant watched him go with unreadable crimson eyes, and then he put the trunk down and went back outside to retrieve the others. Ciel was now using the name Dumont as his alias in place of Phantomhive—taken from French relatives that were now as sparse and scattered as the Phantomhives. It would be the perfect cover, once they got all of the required identification paperwork completed. His given name he'd chosen to keep, because "Ciel" was a common name amongst the French.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ this is supposed to work?" Ciel frowned in frustration, his dark brows furrowing. "I don't feel the slightest bit sleepy…just exhausted."

A cool hand rested on his forehead, and he opened his eyes to look up at his butler. Sebastian was gazing down at him calmly, his parted, raven bangs falling forward as he bent over him. "I'm sure. Young master, you're allowing your frustration to get in the way. You _must_ relax your body and will it to sleep. Until we can obtain the sustenance you need, rest is important.

Ciel sighed. "Well, don't just stand there looming over me like that. It's creepy."

Sebastian smiled at him. "As you wish." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and he smoothed the ailing boy's hair away from his forehead. "Now, close your eyes and listen to my voice."

Ciel took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, obeying him. Sebastian's murmuring voice _was_ rather soothing, with its deep resonance and cultured accent. He was prepared for yet another disappointment, but this time the butler kept stroking his hair as he encouraged him, and it felt nice. Before he knew it, Ciel fell into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

Sebastian kept stroking his hair and speaking softly to him, until he was sure Ciel was indeed asleep. Satisfied that he would finally get some relief from his suffering, Sebastian took his hand away and stood up. He paused and gazed down at the slumbering boy—now exiled from his estate and country of his own accord.

"I'll see to it that you grow stronger, young master," he promised in a whisper, "no matter what it takes."

After all, part of his duty in protecting him was to ensure Ciel could protect himself, as well.

* * *

"Will! Can't we talk about this?" Grell dodged another ruthless attack from his associate's death scythe, and a crimson lock of hair got clipped free. The redhead shouted a protest when he saw his hair blow away in the wind.

"You betrayed your own kind," snapped William angrily, unrelenting. He jumped after his fleeing opponent, following him over to the next building top. "You forged a death report, and for what? Another encounter with that filthy demon? Your fraternization with him is a disgrace!"

Grell was briefly confused by that last part, until the implications sunk in. He hopped over another attack and the cracks spread over the rooftop where he'd been standing, when William's scythe struck it. He landed a few feet away from the other reaper, and he held his scythe up to block the next attack. Chainsaw and pruning pole met and clashed, throwing sparks. Neither weapon could damage the other, and William's handsome, angry features stared into Grell's as he pitted his strength against the redhead's.

"I can smell the fiend's stench on you," William said, raising his voice over the noise of the chainsaw rattling against the shaft of his scythe. "How could you let vermin like him touch you, that way?"

Grell had the interesting experience of reliving his second blissful encounter with Sebastian in his head, while at the same time feeling exhilarated over the implications behind Will's anger. He recalled the feel of Sebastian's hands on his body, and the way the black nails dug into his hips as he took him. He remembered the feel of his hot breath against his ear, quickening with pleasure as he pumped inside of him. Sebastian Michaelis knew how to please a lover. He knew where to when to hurt and when to soothe. It was as though he had a special talent for reading body language, and for a being created from hell, he certainly knew how to make someone feel like they were in heaven.

"Wipe that besotted look off your face, or _I_ will!"

Grell came back to harsh reality with a start when William smacked him across the face. He staggered backwards, putting one hand to the stinging spot while holding his scythe with the other. The slap didn't have a normal effect on the flamboyant reaper. Someone else might have been shocked to tears or anger, but Grell took it as flirtation.

"_William_!" He was blushing, and he forgot all about his past experiences with Michaelis as his present situation titillated his senses. "You _do_ want me!"

The dark-haired reaper stared at him with stunned eyes, letting his guard down. "What?"

Grell closed the distance between them with a graceful leap, and William backed away, suddenly looking nervous. "That's what this is really all about! You're jealous!"

"D-don't be absurd," stammered the taller reaper. He nudged his slightly askew glasses back into place with his scythe. "My anger is purely professional! Now tell me why you—"

Grell tripped him while he was too flustered to defend himself, and the dispatch administrator cursed as he went down. Grell followed him to the ground and he cupped the back of his head just in time to prevent it from hitting the surface of the roof. It wasn't so much a protective move as it was a strategic one. While his associate was off-balance and confused, Grell knocked his death scythe away, sending it spinning several feet. He set his own down and he covered William's cursing mouth with his own, interrupting his swearing. There was a low sound of surprise from the brunet, and when Grell ran his tongue over Will's parted lips, his attitude suddenly…changed.

He got to experience the delight of getting "seme'd" by William T. Spears all over again. The administrator's tongue pushed back against his, before sliding onto his mouth aggressively. Grell whined through his nose enthusiastically as Will's hands grabbed his bottom and squeezed it. He could have shoved him off, but he seemed more interested in mauling him, suddenly. Grell sucked on his thrusting tongue and he straddled him, feeling a rush of familiar longing coursing through him. He almost bit down on the tongue ravishing his mouth, but he restrained himself. His glasses were askew, and he absently tugged them off to dangle on the chain around his neck.

William sat up abruptly and put his arms around him, deepening the kiss. It made Grell think of classic, passionately romantic moments in stories, where the hero swept the heroine off of her feet and carried her off into the bedroom, to make sweet love to her. He felt a hand tug his hair insistently, and he tilted his head back and let his companion's mouth lay claim to his throat.

"Will," he gasped, "My perfectly cold prince! I tremble with need for you, mm! Take me, take me now!"

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" gasped William, his mouth pressing kisses against Grell's neck even as he spoke. His hands squeezed Grell's bottom again, provoking a desperate little whimper from the slimmer reaper. His swollen package bumped against Grell's as he pulled him closer and thrust against him, making the redhead practically swoon. Grell shifted against him, grinding between the material of their trousers as he stroked William's hair and gasped encouraging litanies to him.

William suddenly snapped out of it when Grell's hand slipped between his legs to cup his bulging crotch. He shoved the redhead off of him abruptly, backpedaling away from him like a bizarre crab.

"This…this can't happen," gasped William, his narrow eyes widening behind the rectangular lenses of his glasses. He stumbled to his feet and he looked at his death scythe, lying on the rooftop near Grell's. His livid, green-yellow eyes met Grell's, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is…insanity."

Grell righted himself, and he retrieved his chainsaw scythe with a satisfied, Cheshire cat's grin. "Don't lie to yourself, William. That was a revelation!" He replaced his red framed glasses on his face and he blew a kiss at the other reaper, his porcelain-fair features still blushing with rosy passion.

"You're mad," accused William, retrieving his scythe with as much dignity as the situation could muster. "You've gone too far, Sutcliff. You've violated the rules we operate by—_again_! Not only do you tramp around with that revolting demon, but—"

Grell crossed the distance between them in an instant. He cupped the back of William's head before the other man could draw away, and he pressed his forehead against his. William's accusations halted abruptly, and he stared at him. The frames of their glasses clinked together as the redhead locked eyes with him, his mouth spread into an adoring smile. Grell's filed, sharp teeth flashed white in the hazy afternoon light as he spoke.

"You're jealous."

William frowned and pushed away from him, flushing. He straightened his glasses and brushed his hands over his suit. "Hardly. You simply took me by surprise, for a moment. By the authority of the Dispatch branch, I order you, Grell Sutcliff, to relinquish your Death Scythe to my custody until such time as you've proven yourself worthy of wielding it again."

Grell heaved a dejected sigh, and he looked down at the chainsaw he now held in his hands. "Again? Will, if you would just let me explain—"

"I don't want to _hear_ it," snapped the brunet abruptly, with a slashing gesture of his hand. "You're lucky I'm choosing to deal with this latest infraction myself, rather than report it directly to the highest authorities!"

Grell blushed again, reluctantly handing over his scythe. "You aren't reporting me?"

"Not until I've investigated the matter thoroughly myself," answered William. "Something is obviously going on with Phantomhive, and I want your complete cooperation. Come with me and tell me absolutely _everything_, and leave the flirtation out of it. After that, I'll decide whether it's worth reporting you to our superiors or if I can sort this tangle out without their involvement."

Grell clasped his hands together. "So valiant! So noble!"

William frowned. "I do this only because I still owe you a debt. You once saved my ass, so I feel obligated to save yours in return."

Grell could have reminded him that he'd already fulfilled that perceived obligation, but even the wild redhead knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Looking at his companion with undisguised longing, he thought he might get another opportunity to convince William that they'd be fantastic together, if he went with him.

"My body is ready for you, William."

The brunet frowned at him, and another flush of color bloomed in his cheeks as his gaze roved over Grell's slim form. "No more of that vulgar talk. This is very serious, Grell. It would be smart of you to take it as such, or else your understudy Ronald could soon take your place in our organization's hierarchy."

Grell sighed and bit his lip, reaching into his vest for the twin pairs of scissors that he'd taken to carrying with him all the time, over the years. He was forever getting into trouble, and it was usually Sebby's fault. He cursed the gorgeous demon for being so irresistible, and he cursed William for being too pigheaded to give into the feelings he knew he had for him. He would stay true to his Shinigami prince, if he would just stop fighting his feelings and be with him.

* * *

"That one."

Sebastian regarded the man stumbling out of the pub, and he frowned with distaste before looking down at his small companion. "You're certain, young master?"

Ciel nodded, his blue gaze fixated on his chosen prey. His mouth was compressed into a grim line of determination, and he seemed even paler than normal. "He deserves it. Look at his aura, Sebastian."

"I'm aware of it," answered the taller demon softly, sighing. The man that Ciel had chosen to be his first victim was a violator and killer of children. He should have known his master would choose a target like him. While he could appreciate the irony, he doubted Ciel understood just what he was in for. "Shall I collect him for you, then?"

Ciel shook his head, and he absently reached up and removed his top hat. "I can get him without help. All I need do is offer myself as bate, to this detestable creature. Hold this for me."

Sebastian dutifully took the hat and he watched with interest as the boy deliberately mussed his dark hair and started across the cobblestone street to his target. The man took immediate interest in him, and Sebastian smiled with quiet amusement as he approached Ciel. The boy looked perfectly scruffy and beautiful, at once. He made the perfect lure for such a depraved beast. Sebastian could practically taste the unwholesome lust emanating from the man, and he had to fight the compelling aesthetics of his Faustian bond with Ciel to resist going out there and shoving the man away from his master.

Sebastian clenched his hands into fists and he narrowed his glowing eyes, watching from the shadows of the alley as the man squatted clumsily before Ciel to talk to him. He could make out most of it, thanks to his enhanced senses. The man asked if Ciel was lost, and then he asked if his parents were nearby. Ciel calmly told him that he no longer had parents, and he got separated from his guardian.

"You truly are a master of strategy," whispered Sebastian, smiling again. "And your prey is so utterly charmed already, he's unlikely to put up a fight. Still…"

Sebastian removed his gloves, and the tattoo on his left hand glowed magenta briefly, matching his eyes. If he sensed the faintest hint of distress from his master, he'd be upon the man like a flash. He'd tear his head from his shoulders, before he'd allow him to lay a single finger on Ciel. The depth of his conviction surprised him only a little. Ever since that day when he tried to take his soul and found it missing, Sebastian understood that his devotion to Ciel went far deeper than the compulsion of the Faustian contract.

The role he'd taken as his butler became more than an act, more than a means to an end. He became his willing slave, and he still didn't quite understand just _how_ or when that happened. He tensed as his master went with the half-drunken man into the alley across the street, and he again fought the compulsion to charge to his rescue. Despite Ciel's penchant for getting himself abducted, he was quite the brilliant little fellow. Sebastian had to trust him to take care of himself…at least long enough to experience his first lesson in soul devouring.

* * *

The man's scream nearly stopped Ciel, but once he began to draw his soul from his gaping mouth, the hunger took over. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to, and as the slimy, greedy, unwholesome compilation that made up the man's soul permeated him, Ciel wished to God that he _could_ stop. The big, meaty hands shoved him painfully against the wall, but the man was caught…unable to physically pull away or stop the escape of his soul. Invisible to the naked mortal eye, the ghostly essence of the sum totality of the man's existence, exited his shouting mouth to flow into Ciel's, several inches away. The boy's pupils had altered into slits, and the blue of his irises now glowed pinkish-red.

Ciel stood stunned, swooning in the feeding frenzy. The infusion of spiritual energy fed his own parched soul, and he began to yell with the dying man helplessly. The man collapsed in the alley as the last of his essence fled his body, and Ciel fell to his knees. Ignoring the puddle of dubious water he'd dropped into, Ciel put one hand on the cobblestones for support and he put the other over his throat. He began to gag and cough uncontrollably, his eyes wide and stunned.

"S…bastian," he choked, suddenly terrified by the corrupt rush of foreign feelings and desires he felt. "_Sebastian!_"

His butler was there, then. Standing backlit by the street lamps, his tall form stood motionless, and his eyes glowed in his shadowed face. "You called for me, young master?"

Ciel looked up at him, his lips quivering. "He…he tastes bad. It's like…like snakes or worms, wriggling around in my belly!"

Sebastian nodded solemnly. "Of course. He was the most unwholesome of mortals. You chose him specifically because of that."

Ciel felt his stomach heave and he covered his mouth, waiting for it to settle before speaking again. "But…why? I thought…you made it seem like soul consumption was…pleasurable."

"Indeed, it can be," allowed the older demon with another nod, "if the soul is palatable. Clearly your chosen fare doesn't agree with you, however."

Seeing his smile, Ciel glared up at him. "Bastard. You knew it would do this to me, yet you said nothing!"

"Perhaps I deserve your admonishment, young master," murmured Sebastian, still smiling in that secret, conniving way, "but the quickest way to teach a fledgling to fly is to push it from the nest, wouldn't you agree?"

Ciel scowled. "You…you…" He burped and he covered his mouth with a curled hand. "I'm going to be sick."

With that said, Ciel Phantomhive—now known as Lord Ciel Dumont—puked his guts out in the alleyway. His servant looked on emotionlessly, offering no comfort or aid as the boy threw up all of the tea he'd drank that day. When the heaving finally ended, Ciel wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from his suit pocket, and he glared up at Sebastian accusingly again.

"I still feel him inside me."

Sebastian inclined his head politely. "Of course. That _is_ how it works, young master. I've explained this to you before. When a demon takes in a human soul, it becomes a part of him or her, forever. Why do you think we're so drawn to the purer souls? Innocence, strength, nobility, love…all of these things make a more bountiful and potent ingestion. As that mad angel said to me before I disposed of it, there _are_ no truly pure souls in this world…but there are varying degrees of corruption. You, my master, chose to feed on the blackest soul you could find, as your first meal. This is what you can expect from such creatures, when you consume them."

"So I should target the decent ones, that don't deserve this? N-no. That's not acceptable."

"The choice in what diet to consume is entirely yours," assured Sebastian, "In the end, souls like the one you just consumed will serve your needs just as well as those with a more wholesome tenor."

"Even so, you should have…warned me," insisted Ciel, still feeling like he could start vomiting again at any moment. It was revolting, feeling his victim inside of him, sensing his desires.

"Would you have listened, had I tried?" Sebastian tilted his head, his eyes returning to their human shape and color. He offered a bare hand to the boy.

Ciel grunted, caught. "Probably not," he admitted unhappily. He took his butler's hand and got to his feet. He heard the sound of raised voices coming from the main street, and a peek around Sebastian's tall form revealed the bobbing approach of lanterns. The police were coming, likely drawn by the sounds of his victim's screams. He hardly felt it when Sebastian secured his hat back onto his head, and he huffed a breath as the butler scooped him easily into his arms, bride style.

"Shall we depart? It wouldn't do for them to find you here, next to a dead body. Think of the scandal."

"Amongst other things," grumbled Ciel. "Take me home, Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"So you were approached by Sebastian Michaelis with a proposition," Will summarized after listening to Grell's account, "a proposition to falsify his master's death report. Why? What could the demon possibly get out of it? For that matter, why didn't he consume Ciel Phantomhive as intended?"

Grell spread his hands. "I couldn't tell you. He just told me that it was important that it go on official records."

The brunet looked up from the report he was writing with a frown. "That's it? He didn't explain why he made such an odd request?"

Grell sighed, his green-gold eyes becoming distant again with the memory of his scandalous encounter with the demon. "No, and by the time he finished convincing me to do it for him, I really didn't care what his reasons were."

William narrowed his eyes, fighting back the ugly feeling of jealousy he refused to admit to or acknowledge. He didn't give a damn who Sutcliff shared his body with—so long as it wasn't a demon. It was a disgrace to Shinigami kind to fraternize with their lot. He focused on the matter at hand, and he looked back down at the report.

"I'm going to put it on record that you were tricked, Sutcliff. It's happened before to Shinigami brighter than you are, so the department should find my report plausible. You are hereby suspended from duty for a month. When that time is up, you will be on probation. Provided your performance is satisfactory, you may earn your scythe back. Until then, perhaps you should reflect on how to best avoid penalties like this."

Grell heaved a dejected sigh and absently snipped the air with his scissors—which would serve as his scythe weapons until he was granted the privilege of using his official one, again. He looked at William and suddenly, his long-lashed eyes took on a sly look, behind the lenses of his glasses.

"So you're forging a report to cover up my forgery of a report." Grell got on his knees in his chair and he planted two hands on the desk, leaning over it to get his face closer to the administrator's. He reminded William of a cat with a bowl of cream, and he half-expected him to purr. "Mm, Will...I'd say you were a hypocrite, if I didn't find your protective actions so gallant."

William kept his expression stony. "You're no damsel in distress and I'm not your knight in shining armor. If I tell them you falsified that death report, there will be an investigation and that would mean more overtime for me, so don't flatter yourself."

If anything, Grell seemed to get more starry-eyed. "You're so forceful, William!" He started to crawl across the desk, and he got a hand in the face for his troubles.

"This behavior is unacceptable," snapped William. "Stop it at once, and get out of my office."

Grell sighed again, and he pouted. "I see it's going to take a little more time."

William rolled his eyes and pointed at the door. Grell followed the gesture with his eyes and he shrugged, getting off the desk to comply. He moved with effeminate allure as he walked away, and William silently wondered how he managed to pull that kind of hip-swaying off without looking utterly ridiculous. Grell looked over his shoulder at him as he reached the door, and he winked.

"I'll be waiting, William." He blew him a kiss. "Bye bye, now."

The administrator remained impassive until he was gone and the door shut behind him. Once he was alone again, William released the breath he was holding and he put his face in his palms.

"What am I going to do with him?"

* * *

Over time, it got easier. Ciel learned to be a bit more selective of his prey, and Sebastian was ever at his side, instructing him when necessary but generally leaving him to figure most of it out for himself. It wasn't like his school tutoring or music lessons at all. He seemed determined to let the fledgling demon make his own mistakes and learn from them, and whenever Ciel confronted him about it, his answer was always that the harsh lessons were the best kind.

"You'll be that much stronger for it, in the end," he assured him one night after the boy had another unsavory meal of an evildoer's soul. "And you decline to take my advice when I give it to you, anyhow."

Ciel gave him an exasperated look. "If you're referring to my refusal to take the souls of the innocent, you're absolutely right. That's one piece of advice I simply won't adhere to. Some small part of me is still capable of human decency, and I intend to keep it that way."

The dignity of his response was spoiled when he turned and bent over to puke on the side of the building, right next to his latest victim. This one was a whoremaster, who was guilty of disposing of several prostitutes that he deemed unfit to be under his dubious "protection".

Sebastian sighed and retrieved the handkerchief from his breast pocket. "As you wish, young master. I'll remind you, however, that you aren't a human any longer and those rules of 'decency' need no longer apply to you. You are what you eat, and you've chosen to eat shit."

Ciel's heaving stopped, and he looked up at him as he took the offered handkerchief. "Excuse me, did you just call me a piece of shit?"

Sebastian smirked. "I would never _dream_ of referring to my master in such a disrespectful way. You have, however, alluded that you feel like shit after devouring your choice of gourmet souls. I merely suggest that your spirits might improve if you'll throw away your foolish pride and try something a bit...lighter."

Ciel finished wiping his mouth, and he shook his head, lowering his gaze to the corpse propped against the back of the building. "No. Even if I throw up after every one of these 'meals', I'd rather rid the world of scum like this than take the souls of the undeserving."

Sebastian sighed again, and he procured a small writing tablet from inside of his jacket.

"What's that you're writing?" demanded Ciel curiously.

"I'm adding 'vomiting' to your ever-growing list of skills, young master." The butler smiled softly. "It's becoming quite the interesting resume. If the country ever needs a spy that excels at being a brat, getting himself abducted, drowning and vomiting, I'm sure you'll be the first they'll contact."

The boy glared at him impotently. "You're determined to make my life a living hell."

"Well, I _am_ one hell of a—"

"Drop it."

Sebastian bowed formally at the waist. "As you wish, my lord."

* * *

It did provide the desired results, as more time passed. Despite how revolting it was to him to feed on the souls of the most depraved and wicked of people, Ciel began to grow out of his clothes. At first, he honestly wasn't sure what was happening. He hadn't had a growth spurt in so long, he simply wasn't used to finding his pants too short or his shirts too tight. Sebastian noticed it too, of course, because he dressed him each day.

"You've gotten taller," observed the demon butler as he finished fastening Ciel's shirt closed. He smiled subtly at him. "I wondered at first, to be honest. You hardly grew at all in my time as your servant when you were mortal. I was half convinced you were designed to remain a child forever, young master."

Ciel smiled faintly and nodded in agreement. He looked down at the pants and noted that they were an inch shorter than he recalled—but no...he was an inch _taller_. He was finally starting to catch up to other kids his age.

"Perhaps you're right, Sebastian. I was so sickly...maybe I never would have grown to full adult size as a human. Maybe I wouldn't have even lived to become an adult, for that matter. Well, I certainly wouldn't have if our contract had worked out properly, at any rate."

"How fortunate for you," murmured Sebastian. He finished his task and stood up, retrieving the waistcoat from the privacy screen. "Hold your arms out, please."

Ciel did as instructed, and he watched the butler with fathomless, opaque blue eyes. "Do you hate me, Sebastian?"

The butler kept his crimson gaze lowered. "Hate you? For something beyond your control? That's a foolish notion."

"But I knew," Ciel informed him boldly. "I knew what Alois and Hannah were planning for me, that night in the hedge maze. I knew what I would become, when I broke free of Alois' control over my body for long enough to proclaim you my butler forever. I knew I wasn't just speaking figuratively, Sebastian. Alois told me that he was determined not to let you have my soul."

The admission gave Sebastian pause, but only for a moment. "Please sit on the bed, young master. I'll put your stockings on, now."

Ciel obeyed, now frowning at him. "That's it? You have no thoughts on the matter?"

A little smirk curved Sebastian's mouth, and he looked up at him as he prepared to put the stockings on. "Very well, if you insist. I wonder what drove you to do such a thing. You made no secret of your loathing of me, when we first made our agreement. You named me after a dog, knowing I have an aversion to the beasts. I _am_ mildly curious as to why you would want to keep around a creature who served you with the final intention of devouring your soul."

Unsure of why he was even doing this, Ciel chose to be candid. "I didn't want to be alone."

Sebastian lowered his gaze again and eased the stocking over Ciel's right calf. "I see."

"Besides," Ciel went on casually, "It made practical sense. What better way to adjust to this state, than to have an older, more experienced demon available at all times to help me?"

"Calculating to the end," agreed Sebastian with a nod. He fastened the stocking and put the other one on, before reaching for the buckled shoes. "Well young master, your counter-plotting worked in your favor. I only hope my services are worthy of such effort on your part."

Sensing some sarcasm in his tone, Ciel lowered his gaze. "I...didn't do it to be cruel, no matter how I felt about you in the beginning."

The ruby gaze lifted again, and Sebastian smiled politely. "Of course not. Point your toes, please."

Ciel bit his lip and complied, wondering why he felt the need to justify his actions, and why he told him the truth anyway. It might have been easier to just allow Sebastian to go on thinking Ciel didn't know he'd end up as a demon, when he used the Faustian mark to proclaim him his butler forever. Now that he knew it was done with full knowledge of what it would mean for him, Ciel wondered if Sebastian might come to resent him as much as he'd first resented the butler. He remembered how he'd comforted him the night he asked Sebastian if demons could love, and he felt a little sickened by the thought that he might come to loathe him, now.

* * *

Several months later, news came from Tanaka that had Ciel caught in a whirlwind of mixed feelings. He read over the list of recent events as he sipped his tea, and he frowned.

"Elizabeth is engaged," he announced softly, "to a Duke."

Sebastian nodded. "It's to be expected. Her family wouldn't have allowed her to remain without a suitor for long."

"Right." Ciel lowered the letter to the desk and he tapped his fingers on the wooden surface. "I only hope he'll be good to her."

"Does the news trouble you?"

Ciel thought about it, and he shrugged. "Yes and no. I'm fond of Lizzy, and I always will be. Ours was an arrangement of convenience, however...not romantic love. Such a thing is a luxury nobles can rarely afford. My parents were an exception. Elizabeth was...is...my dearest childhood friend. I would have been happy to spend my life with her, but this is best, now."

"Young master is pragmatic, as always," approved Sebastian. "I'm sure Lady Elizabeth's parents made a smart match for her."

Ciel's eyes briefly changed. "And if they made an error in judgment, Elizabeth won't suffer for it. I'll make sure of that." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "But enough of this. She still has four years or longer, before the day comes for her to take her vows. I'll worry about how this man treats her then."

Sebastian smiled in understanding. He got the impression that should it come to such a thing, Ciel wouldn't be satisfied with having his butler act in his name. The boy would most likely insist on taking care of the problem himself. There wasn't a maiden in England that could call herself more protected or cherished than Elizabeth Midford. There were certainly no others that had a demon watching over them.

* * *

Each day, Ciel spent the mornings on educational lesson plans, the afternoons managing the family businesses and the evenings practicing fine arts, music or fencing. These routines hadn't changed since he moved away, though he had fewer responsibilities with regards to the business, with Tanaka taking care of most of it. He'd hired a representative to live at the estate as well, to conduct public business when required, since Tanaka couldn't socialize verbally for very long, without getting worn out.

His fourteenth birthday came and went, and while he wasn't growing as quickly as other boys his age, he was still steadily gaining height and strength. He arranged for himself to be a "family representative" of the Funtom company, and he worked out of the Paris branch to keep expanding. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. He'd never have a family to pass the legacy down. The Phantomhive name was as good as dead, now. Her majesty saw to that, but the company still produced goods and money that helped fill the Crown's coffers.

While Ciel pondered the meaning of life and wondered what the point was of continuing to manage his family business and estate, Sebastian took his pleasures when he was allowed. It wasn't until one such pleasure involved a certain, redheaded Shinigami that things became rather complicated.

* * *

He recognized him the moment he saw him. Sebastian briefly wondered what Grell was doing in Paris, but seeing him open his reaper book and mark something into it, he immediately understood. He was there to collect a soul—or else, he'd already done so. The demon stuck to the shadows, debating on whether he should initiate contact with him. He called it curiosity, but the memory of their last encounter made his blood quicken. Perhaps it was time to initiate a third encounter, while the night was still young. Ciel would be occupied for at least an hour in the art museum. He was there to choose a new painting for the house, and it always took him a long time to make up his mind about pieces like that.

Against his better judgment, Sebastian purposely revealed himself to him. He stepped out into the open and looked at his pocketwatch, trusting Grell to come right over to him the minute he spotted him. It didn't take very long.

"Sebas-chan! Oh, Sebby, what are you doing here?"

Sebastian smirked briefly, before putting his watch away and looking up. "I'm here on business, of course. I imagine it's much the same for you."

"Mm, yes." Grell sidled up to him, rubbing his shoulder against the taller man's. "If I'd known you were in Paris, I would have looked you up. It's been months, my Romeo! I've missed you."

Looking at the fair, blushing face, Sebastian raised a brow. "I thought I made it clear the last time that I was only cooperating to gain your assistance."

Grell took a deep, savoring breath of his scent, and he ran his fingers over the butler's jacket. "Don't play coy, Bassy. This love between us can't be denied, and I _know_ you enjoyed our last encounter every bit as much as I did." He started to trace Sebastian's ear with the tip of his tongue, only to be shoved away firmly.

"Conduct yourself with some dignity," insisted the butler, even as Grell's decidedly litigious behavior fired up his intrigue.

"But Sebas-chan, Paris _is_ the city of love," reminded Grell in a purr. "I have a suite at the hotel two blocks away. I'd be all too happy to remind you of how well our bodies fit together."

Knowing the kind of grief he'd get from his master if Ciel found out, Sebastian was nonetheless too interested to pass the opportunity up. "No biting," he reminded the reaper, reinforcing the order that Grell seemed to so easily forget.

"Only nibbles," promised Grell enthusiastically, nodding. His crimson bangs fell over his green-gold eyes and he smiled toothily at him. Odd, that a man with teeth filed into fangs like that could look so ridiculously pretty, when he smiled.

* * *

A short while later, Sebastian was reclined on the big, king-sized bed in Grell's luxury suite, and the redheaded Shinigami's clothes lay scattered on the floor. Dressed only in his trousers now, Grell rubbed his body against Sebastian's as he worked to get the demons' clothes off of him. He loved undressing his beautiful demon Romeo, revealing that gorgeous, lean physique little by little. It made him burn inside, to think of how quickly Sebby's docile compliance could turn into hot aggression.

"No...teeth," Sebastian warned as Grell got his pants open and reached in to ease his erection out. The redhead sighed and adjusted his glasses as he looked back up the length of his companion's body.

"Not even a little?"

Sebastian's eyes flashed, cat-like. "If I feel so much as a scratch from one of those teeth in that area, I'll toss you out the window to the other side of Paris before you can even blink."

The warning made Grell flush with delight, and he squirmed restlessly. "I love it when you're forceful, Sebby! I just want to lick you..." He lowered his mouth to the source of the demon's arousal, and he demonstrated his point.

"...and kiss you..."

He pressed a soft, gentle kiss on the rosy tip, and he had the pleasure of hearing Sebastian's breath catch subtly.

"...and suck you."

With great care, he put his lips around the sensitive head and he gave it some attention, before releasing it and looking back up at his companion with passion. "Don't worry, Sebby," he promised huskily, guessing by the wary look in Sebastian's eyes that he wasn't entirely comfortable with letting someone with his teeth do this. "I'll be gentle with you. It's such a pretty cock."

Sebastian smirked at him. "You seem to have quite a talent, I admit. My compliments. Just see to it that you don't forget the rules I laid out."

"Absolutely," promised Grell. Whether it ended up getting rough or being a slow, leisurely encounter, he knew he was going to enjoy every single moment of it.

* * *

William tracked his associate down without too much difficulty. Grell was still on probation for his last infraction, and it was unfortunately his job to see that he didn't stray again. He got the room number from the receptionist, but when he knocked on Grell's door, the only response he got was a muffled demand to go away. Seeing the "do not disturb" sign hanging on the knob and hearing a familiar moan from the other side of the door, the administrator frowned.

"He's here on a job and he's..." William's hands clenched into fists, guessing what his associate must be up to. Who would it be _this_ time? Some foolish young fop, or perhaps a Parisian lady? He couldn't easily imagine Grell with a woman, as much as he went on about men...and that blasted demon of his.

It was tempting to go and demand a key from the front desk, or simply kick the door down and rudely interrupt Grell's little fornication session. William was a practical man, however. He was also immensely curious about who he'd taken to his bed. He returned to the elevator, left the building and scaled the walls outside to Grell's Suite window. With his cloaking abilities, he was able to do so without any nearby humans noticing. It took him a moment to get a clear enough view, as the gauzy curtain was in his way.

With a bit more effort, William was able to scoot over more and get his first unobstructed view of the interior of the room, and its occupants. The gas lamp by the bed cast the room in a soft glow, highlighting the two men on the bed. In an instant, William was struck stupid with the realization of what he was seeing. There was Grell Sutcliff, his formal rival and constant pain in his ass, on his hands and knees on the expansive bed, shirtless and shoeless. He was blushingly pleasuring the rather impressive cock of another man lying beneath him. His sexual partner was still fully dressed as far as William could tell, except for the exposed erection.

At once, the scene became blurry in William's vision and he realized his glasses were steaming up. He cursed and he precariously clung to the window awning with one hand, so he could wipe his glasses against his jacket with the other. He crammed them back on as soon as they were clear enough again, and he stared into the room.

It was then that he saw the black Faustian tattoo mark on the hand stroking Grell's vivid hair, and William T. Spears lost his hold on the window and his balance completely. He fell to the ground five stories blow with an oath, and a passing woman gasped when she heard him hit the street, but couldn't see him. William picked himself up with difficulty and gave himself a chance to recover and straighten up his clothes, before dropping his cloak and going back into the hotel. His mouth was pressed into a line of agitation and his eyes blazed angrily.

* * *

The insistent banging on his door was rapidly destroying the mood, and Sebastian grabbed his hair and forced his head back, to make him release his erection. "Maybe you should answer that," suggested the demon.

Snarling softly with annoyance, Grell got off of his companion with a sigh and he adjusted his aching, swollen package as he stood up. He grabbed his red and black flower-print robe off the back of the armchair as he went, and he slipped it on as he went to the door.

"Can't you people read?" cried Grell passionately to whoever was banging on his door. "The sign says 'Do Not Disturb!"

"Open this door this _instant_, Sutcliff!"

Grell's eyes widened and he paled when he recognized that angry voice. "Will?" He pulled the chain away and unlocked the door, opening it a crack. Standing in the hallway was the administrator of his department, looking more livid than Grell had ever seen him look before. "What are you doing here? I'm finished with my assignment, if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't give a damn about the assignment," announced William angrily. He shoved the door open before Grell could even part his lips to respond, and he knocked the redhead into the wall as he strode in. His burning gaze fixated on Sebastian Michaelis, still lying in the bed. "You. Again."

Sebastian had already tucked himself back into his trousers and straightened his clothes. If it weren't for the tent in the crotch of his pants, he might have looked like he was just relaxing to daydream. He had his fingers threaded behind his head and he regarded the Shinigami administrator with calm red eyes.

"I beg your pardon," Sebastian said, "but it's customary to ask permission, before entering someone else's suite. At least you had the courtesy to knock."

William's damning gaze settled on Grell, who stood hopelessly torn in the foyer. "What is he doing here with you? Is this why you were so willing to take this assignment? Because you knew your demon lover would be here and you wanted to arrange another—"

"Pardon me again, but we aren't lovers," corrected Sebastian coolly. He sat up and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Grell and I just happened to cross paths, and I allowed him to demonstrate his enthusiasm over that."

William's death scythe suddenly extended across the room with lightning speed, aiming straight for Sebastian's smirking, handsome face. Grell shouted with alarm, but the demon caught the shaft of the weapon and stopped it from cutting him. He locked eyes with William across the room, his sensitive mouth smiling politely.

"I'm afraid I can't cooperate with your efforts to prune my face, Mr. Spears. Let's be civil, now." He released his hold on the weapon and allowed the reaper to withdraw it again.

William returned his attention to Grell. "If I discover that you've falsified _another_ report for this piece of filth, I won't defend you. I'll turn you in without a second thought."

"Will, I swear we were just...well, you know. A lady shouldn't say." Grell blushed and lowered his gaze with uncanny modesty that had both of his companions staring at him.

"You lunatic." William's expression was full of confusion, anger and something like betrayal. "You're so besotted with this...this..."

"Careful," advised Sebastian as he stood up and put his gloves back on. "You interrupted a rather pleasant, private encounter, Mr. Spears. There are limits to how gracious I can be over such an infringement."

William glared at him, and then back at Grell again. "I can't believe you would lower yourself this way...again. He's got you wrapped around his finger, because you're infatuated with him!"

Grell began to get angry too, and his frustration with the impossible man got the better of him. "You're one to talk! All I ever hear from you is: _'Undertaker, Undertaker'_!" Grell made a face as he said it, pitching his voice into a mocking, whining tone. "You follow him around like a lost puppy, every chance you get! You've got a lot of nerve accusing me of being pathetic, William!"

Sebastian regarded the two angry Shinigami calmly. "I can see I'm in the middle of a lover's spat." He bowed. "I'll excuse myself and give you two the privacy you clearly need."

"We aren't lovers," insisted William, his face going ruddy.

Sebastian was already out the window and gone, though. He'd gotten it open in the blink of an eye, and the curtains fluttered out through the opening. The administrator turned to his redheaded companion, his gaze sweeping over Grell's half-dressed form.

"Make yourself decent. I want to follow him."

Grell frowned at him. "But...we're in the middle of a lover's spat!"

"No, we're in the middle of an argument," corrected Spears, "and he had _some_ reason to seduce you into falsifying the Phantomhive death report. You risked your career to help him. I want to know what he's hiding."

Poor Grell was in an even bigger state of confusion than before. Maybe Will's passionate dislike of Sebastian motivated him, but it seemed like he was at least partially motivated by protective instinct. Remembering that one kiss they'd shared on the roof the day William confronted him about the report, the redhead blushed and grinned. If only he could divide himself into two people and be with both of the men he desired, but one was too stubborn to admit he wanted him too, and the other was a demon that preferred to keep things strictly physical.

"That was an order, Sutcliff."

Grell gave him a fawning look, his body reacting immediately to the authoritative tone. He moved to comply, blowing a kiss at the exasperated brunet when William glared at him.

* * *

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 3: Exposure

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

_"Young master, I've organized a way to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive is dead to both the human world, and the supernatural one, as requested. Fortunately for us, there was some confusion in the Shinigami organization when you were reborn as a demon. Their seers believed you were dead, but upon finding out that you're still alive, they decided it was simply a rare mistake. We can use that to our advantage. It won't be difficult to convince them that their calculations concerning your date of death were simply off."_

_"I see." Ciel looked up at his butler suspiciously. "And what sort of arrangements have you made?"_

_"I'll contact Grell Sutcliff and bargain with him for his services. He'll finalize your 'death' by viewing and recording the events of your life. With the incentive of being the first on the job, in addition to any other favors he may ask, I'm sure he'll cooperate."_

_Ciel frowned. "The cinematic records? But, won't he have to use his scythe on me to do that?"_

_"I'm afraid so. Say the word and we can consider other options, if you have doubts." Sebastian bowed before him. "The Shinigami aren't likely to have any dealings with the crown, anyway."_

_Ciel sighed and looked away. "No. It's important that they believe I'm dead now, too. After all the conspiracies we've waded through, we can't take the risk that any of the Reapers might collaborate with the Crown and report the truth. Do it, Sebastian. That's an order."_

_The demon felt the Faustian mark on his hand burn with the command as Ciel's right eye lit up with the twin mark. He lowered his gaze and bowed again. "Yes, my lord."_

* * *

Sebastian thought of these past events as he hurried to the art museum. Fortunately, his faith in Ciel's willpower and resolve wasn't misplaced. Though he knew from personal experience how excruciating it could be to have a reaper's scythe cut into and draw life experiences from him, what Ciel had endured was much worse. To lie there passively and behave as a corpse while it happened was a thing nobody should be expected to endure…and yet, his young master did it. He didn't move or make a single sound while Grell did his work, and the reaper didn't suspect the truth of his nature. It probably helped that he was distracted by Sebastian's sensual promises—which Sebastian of course honored, once Grell finished his task and could be lured away from Ciel.

Now that entire effort could be for nothing, if either of the reapers spotted and recognized Ciel. Never mind how they might react if they realized the truth of the boy's nature.

* * *

"Young master, we need to go now."

Ciel looked up at his butler with surprise, and he waved the museum attendant away. "I haven't finished, here. I still need to choose another painting for the drawing room—or a sculpture, I haven't decided."

Sebastian glanced around and he bent over to speak into the boy's ear. "It's a matter of avoiding being seen by the wrong eyes, my lord."

Ciel felt a flash of alarm. "Who?"

"Reapers. As you may recall, Sutcliff made his report on your 'death' at my request, with some persuasion. I just crossed paths with him and his associate Mr. Spears, and the latter knows what Grell did. He seemed quite determined to find out why, even though Grell himself doesn't know the truth behind it."

Remembering the awful feel of Grell's scythe cutting into him in order to collect the cinematic records, Ciel put a hand to his chest. Sebastian hadn't allowed Grell to cut more than necessary to collect the records, but it was still excessively painful. Ciel somehow managed to resist the pain and play dead until Grell was gone, but when it was safe to drop the act, he'd curled into a ball and sobbed in agony.

The injury was healed completely now, but it had been the second time he had to watch his life flash before his eyes. A part of him wanted to toss his hands up and give up this farce of a secret identity, but he reminded himself that the Crown had an agenda to wipe his family out. It was best to maintain the illusion that the last of the Queen's watchdogs was dead, along with government information that the royal family so feared his family would eventually leak. While the Reaper organization wasn't known for dealing with mortals, it had happened before, and it was important that they too believed Ciel was gone.

"They can't see me," Ciel whispered, looking around with wary blue eyes.

"We could exit through the back," suggested Sebastian softly.

The boy nodded, his dark bangs falling over both eyes with the motion. He pushed them aside from his left eye, and he took Sebastian's hand and pulled him toward a corridor. "This way," he urged. "There's an emergency exit near the bathrooms."

* * *

"Going somewhere, Mr. Michaelis?"

Sebastian halted so abruptly that Ciel ran into his backside. The boy muttered a curse, blushing over practically planting his face into Sebastian's bum. Recognizing the voice, he grimaced and went silent. Sebastian stayed in front of him protectively as he responded.

"Good evening, Mr. Spears." The demon bowed lightly at the waist. "Following me, are you?"

"I have my reasons." William leaned over to the left, trying to see behind Sebastian's tall form.

"I assure you, I'm no threat to your relationship with Mr. Sutcliff." Sebastian's voice was the very definition of calm, but Ciel could sense the quiet tension in his body as the reaper used his scythe to adjust his glasses.

"There _is_ no relationship, beyond work associates," insisted Spears, "so you can drop that smirk."

"I beg your pardon," countered Sebastian. "Your jealousy led me to believe there was something more."

_~"Jealousy?"~_ Ciel mouthed silently, frowning.

"The behavior you speak of was due to revulsion, not jealousy," snapped William. "Sutcliff may be a fool on his best days, but he's Shinigami, and he is above you. Lowering himself to relations with a demon is a disgrace."

"If you feel that way, perhaps you should report him."

Ciel was beginning to understand how Sebastian crossed paths with the two reapers, and he wasn't fond of the mental picture he was getting. It wouldn't be the first time Sebastian had "relations" with the redheaded reaper. Ciel had ordered him to make good on the promise he'd made to Grell once, when the reaper protected him while Sebastian wasn't available. Then there was the falsifying of his death report, of course. Ciel was no idiot…he knew what his butler was doing with Sutcliff while he was recovering from the reaping.

"And who is this behind you?" William asked, again trying to see around Sebastian's body. "Another contract? You really favor the young ones, don't you?"

"I'm not sure what you're implying," Sebastian answered in a coolly polite tone, "but my affairs are really none of your business."

There was a flash of red under the street lamp to the left, and Grell joined William's side. "Oh, you found him," he observed. For a split second, Ciel was exposed to his view due to the angle of his approach. Grell's two-tone eyes narrowed beneath the hedged, crimson brows, and he frowned suspiciously. "You there…step into the light."

"He's shy," Sebastian excused, "and the two of you are trying my patience."

"You're outnumbered," William reminded smugly, "and I would hate to see your newest victim get injured or killed before it's his time. What are you trying to hide from us, demon? Does your little friend know what's in store for him, if he takes you up on whatever foul bargain you're trying to make with him?"

Sebastian's response was laced with haughty amusement. "You have _no_ idea what you're talking about. I'll advise both you and Sutcliff to stand aside and let us pass, or I'll be forced to move you."

Ciel wondered just how he intended to do that, without revealing him to the two reapers. Grell evidently had similar thoughts. "And just how will you do that, Sebby, without revealing your cowering little friend? Although, I can't blame him for admiring the view of you from behind."

Through the slight gap between Sebastian's arm and waist, Ciel could see Grell's eyes caressing his butler's body.

"What a fine backside, it is," Grell went on, his smooth, fair features gaining a little blush of passion. "I long to get my hands on it again."

He started to impulsively step towards Sebastian, making groping motions with his hands. William stopped him in mid-step, slapping his scythe across the redhead's torso and making him grunt.

"Control yourself, for once," muttered the administrator. His gaze went to Sebastian again. "I have questions, and none of us are leaving this alley until I have them answered. Your former master was meant to die one month before you contacted my associate, yet he survived. You were meant to devour his soul, and yet you didn't. Instead of contacting my department directly to handle the situation, you specifically chose Sutcliff."

William adjusted his glasses again, and he gazed sidelong at his companion. "I can presume two possibilities for this. Either you chose that path in order to enjoy another shag with my associate—"

"Will, don't use such a crass word," admonished Grell with a scowl at him. He ran gloved fingers through his flowing red tresses. "You make me sound like a prostitute."

"Then maybe you should stop _acting_ like one." William scowled back.

The two of them began to argue, and the situation became even clearer to Ciel. An ugly feeling twisted inside of him…nearly as repulsive as the taste of the last soul he'd devoured. He didn't understand it, and he didn't understand where it came from. All he knew was that he suddenly disliked Grell Sutcliff more than ever.

* * *

It was the perfect opportunity to grab his master and go, while the two Shinigami were distracted by yet another argument. Sebastian turned and leaned over the boy, prepared to murmur his plan to him before scooping him up. The look he was getting from Ciel gave him pause, and before he could ask him what the matter was, the boy spoke in an even, carefully controlled voice.

"Just _what_ were you doing, while I was in that gallery? What did Mr. Spears interrupt between you and that red pervert, Sebastian?"

Unused to seeing that sort of look on Ciel's face, the butler paused. "Young master, can we discuss this later? We really must—"

Ciel interrupted him, his fathomless blue eyes remaining locked with Sebastian's as he spoke aloud. "He's trying to protect me," he called out to the arguing Shinigami. The bickering abruptly stopped as Ciel stepped out from behind Sebastian, his gaze flashing red at him briefly, before reverting to their human shape and color.

Sebastian sighed and he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, feeling a headache coming on. All of that work—convincing Grell to come alone, keeping him distracted so that he wouldn't suspect the truth of Ciel's nature—it was all spoiled, now. He couldn't understand why his young master would do this, after what he'd endured to ensure that he was dead to the Shinigami organization. While he was contemplating throttling his young charge—consequences be damned—the two reapers gaped at him.

Grell spoke first, wide-eyed with disbelief. He pointed an accusing finger at Ciel. "You're dead! I collected your records myself!"

William stood just as stunned. He looked between Ciel and Sebastian, his mouth working in surprise before he found his voice. He started to point his scythe at Ciel, but Sebastian stepped in front of the boy again to intervene. The warning in his crimson eyes made William reconsider his move, and the reaper lowered the weapon.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded William. "Earl Phantomhive, please step into the light."

Ciel obligingly came out from behind Sebastian again, giving the butler a look that warned him not to get in the way. Sebastian again briefly wondered why he went through the trouble of retrieving the boy's stolen soul, instead of just killing him off and cutting his losses. His own lust and greed was what got him into this, he supposed. If he hadn't been so determined to get his soul back and receive the reward due to him, he wouldn't be in this situation. A part of him wondered why this one human…this one soul…had been so important to him. He'd enjoyed other souls almost as intoxicating and strong as Ciel's before. He should have just—

"William, there's something…off…about him," Grell said, snapping Sebastian out of his lamenting thoughts. The redhead was staring at the young gentleman before him with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "I thought so when I collected his records, but I was having an off day. What's different about you, little Earl?"

"I no longer call myself that," Ciel explained calmly, lowering his gaze. "In fact, Ciel Phantomhive is dead, as far as society is concerned. I've chosen to erase myself and save the Crown the trouble."

"Then what do you call yourself?" pressed William with intrigue, "and what of your estate? For that matter, why did you go through so much effort to fool my organization?"

"I'm now going by the name of Lord Ciel Dumont," answered the boy, "and I run my estate from afar, with the help of my loyal servants. I named Tanaka executer of my estate in my Will, until such time as his death or the passing of the estate to an appropriate family member. That's all you need know."

"That still doesn't answer my question," insisted William, his suspicious gaze sliding up and down the boy's form. "We don't appreciate being made fools of. Sutcliff reported that you were dead, with no pulse and no breath."

Grell nodded. "And I cut him. No human could survive a full reaping! How did you do it?"

Sebastian thought it best that they keep that information quiet. "Young master, perhaps—"

"Quiet, Sebastian." Ciel almost sounded angry with him, and that confused the butler. "I'll handle this." He looked at the two Shinigami again. "Yes, I had my butler arrange for Mr. Sutcliff to come out and take my cinematic records. They were accurate, up to the point when I died."

"So you _were_ dead," reasoned Grell. "And yet here, you are, as bratty and annoying as ever."

"How?" pressed William again.

Ciel looked up at him, smiling. He resembled a ball joint doll at the moment, with that chilling, emotionless little smile. "Don't you know? Can't you guess? You've both sensed it, and I can see you've noticed I'm lacking my usual eye patch. Surely I don't have to demonstrate it, to you."

William and Grell exchanged a glance, and the administrator looked not at Ciel, but at Sebastian. "What did you do, Michaelis?"

"I did nothing," assured Sebastian, smirking at the sudden tension in the air. "The decision was taken out of my hands by another demon, unfortunately. Had it gone my way, the first death prediction would have been correct and young master's soul would now be a part of me. We certainly wouldn't be standing here in this alley talking about this."

"What is he saying?" demanded Grell, though the expression on his pretty face said he knew exactly what he was talking about, now.

Ciel obligingly revealed the truth, allowing his eyes to revert to their demonic color and shape. Grell's brows shot up with surprise, though he evidently expected it. William stared silently and calmly, before heaving a sigh.

"I see. No wonder you survived Grell's death scythe. This muddies up the records even further. More overtime."

"Actually, we would appreciate it if you would keep this to yourselves," Ciel said. "I had good reason to deceive your organization. I acted in the interest of my estate, and the people still running it. You both know that the royal family was behind the attack on my family, and the deaths of my parents."

"Well, they're hardly a threat to you now," reasoned Grell with a snort. "They believe you're dead. What do the Shinigami have to do with what humans think?"

"Because you've been known to forge alliances with humankind before," reminded Sebastian, looking pointedly at Grell. "That was the purpose behind our deception; to ensure that nobody in your department carried the news back to Her Majesty that the last of her Watchdogs was still alive, after all."

"I'm not concerned with how such a thing would effect me," Ciel added, "but there are other people to consider. I protect what's mine. I'm sure you both understand that."

Grell looked at William uncomfortably, and his expression softened. "If we report on this, it means overtime for you, and we both know how much you hate that."

"Yet if we don't, it makes me an accessory to sabotage."

"Don't be so dramatic," snapped Grell. "It doesn't really effect the organization at all, whether Phantomhive is alive or dead."

"Actually, if you consider it," Ciel persuaded, "The record wasn't falsified at all."

"In what sense?" William made a graceful gesture at him. "You're supposed to be dead, yet here you are."

"Not exactly," said Sebastian, catching on to his master's meaning. "Ciel Phantomhive's mortal body _did_ perish, and his soul might as well have been consumed by a demon."

"So you see, the boy you once knew as Earl Phantomhive is dead, after all," finished Ciel with a nod. "I don't see the point in allowing semantics to get in the way of that, do you?"

"Interesting." William tapped his chin with a finger. "That _does_ put a different perspective on it, and going by that, we wouldn't be breaking any rules by letting the matter drop. There _is_ still the Undertaker, however. He was the one to first notice the discrepancy in the death report."

"And he doesn't answer to the organization any longer," said Grell with a frown. "Will said that he was investigating the report as a favor to someone in the records department, but Undertaker isn't required to report in if he chooses not to."

"He left it up to me," William said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I doubt he has any interest in direct involvement in administration affairs."

"There's still a chance, no matter how slim," reasoned Ciel. He looked up at Sebastian. "Maybe we should consider organizing a meeting with him."

Sebastian kept his expression neutral. "You're sure you want to do that, my lord? After all, exposing yourself to yet another Shinigami could potentially increase the risk."

"Undertaker has worked with the Phantomhive family for generations," Ciel reminded, "and I honestly don't believe any of us can guess his true motives. He's lent us his aid on other occasions, and I think for the right price, we can buy his silence."

"What do we have to offer him?" Sebastian pointed out. "I hardly think a joke will be sufficient payment for something this important, and he has no desire for coin of the realm."

"I'm aware of that," sighed the boy. "We'll just have to negotiate. Undertaker may act like a lunatic most of the time, but he can be reasoned with."

"Just a moment," Grell said when Ciel tipped his hat in farewell and parted his lips to speak. "What does all of this mean for Bassy? Is he still your butler, or not?"

Sebastian smiled politely. "But of course. I'm young master's servant from now until the end of eternity. I belong to him, body and soul."

William grimaced in distaste. "A match made in hell. I suppose we'll leave you to it, then…for now. I warn you both; I'm only agreeing to this because I don't feel it's worth the confusion of revising records and dealing with the mountains of paperwork likely to spring from it. If there is any interference in Shinigami business in the future from either of you, our agreement is off."

Ciel nodded. "That is acceptable."

Grell sighed, practically pouting at Sebastian. "So you'll always answer to him, then?"

The butler inclined his head. "That's the way it is, yes. I wish you both a pleasant evening." He turned to Ciel and held out a hand. "Sir?"

Ciel took it, and he put an arm around Sebastian's neck as the taller demon squatted to scoop him up. He carried him out of the alley and around to the front of the building, where their carriage awaited them. He helped Ciel into it, before instructing the driver to take them back home. He climbed into the coach with his master and secured the door as it started moving.

"You handled that well, young master," complimented Sebastian. "A gamble, but well played."

"There was no way you could have gotten me away from there before they got a look at me," explained Ciel. "And even if you had, they would have only been more curious as to why you were hiding me from view. We've satisfied their curiosity and hopefully secured their silence."

"One can only hope the Undertaker feels cooperative, when we visit him," murmured Sebastian.

"We'll work something out," insisted Ciel. "Now, I want you to answer the question I asked you, before."

Sebastian raised a brow. "Which question?"

"The one concerning you and Sutcliff. What were you doing with him, while I was shopping?"

Sebastian smiled. "I think you're still too young to hear about _those_ details, young master."

"Am I?" Ciel flushed with anger, giving Sebastian pause again. "I'm fourteen now. I'm leaving adolescence behind me and I know more about matters of the flesh than any boy my age _should_ know. Now tell me, and that's an order."

Sebastian sighed as the Faustian brand lit up and reinforced the demand. "Very well. Mr. Sutcliff was demonstrating his delight in seeing me again by pleasuring me orally. Apparently, Mr. Spears is somewhat of a Peeping Tom, and he became outraged when he recognized who his would-be lover was servicing."

He had the pleasure of watching Ciel's flush deepen, anger replaced by embarrassment. The big, blue eyes looked away. "When…you say 'oral pleasure', you mean…"

"Pardon my candor, but he was sucking on my cock," answered Sebastian with a nod. "I don't believe I can make it any clearer than that, without providing a demonstration."

The look of shock and alarm on Ciel's pale, blush-stained face was worth the frustration of being compelled, and Sebastian covered his lips with two fingers to control them.

"Th-that's…that's…vulgar!"

"Indeed," agreed the butler. "But young master did force me to answer him in detail. Would you care for a demonstration, now?"

"Absolutely _not!_" Clearly flustered now, the boy's gaze dropped impulsively to Sebastian's lap. "Don't even think of—"

"Please, don't get so excited," advised Sebastian with a smile. "My, you _do_ get worked up. You've lost your ability to tell when I'm teasing, my lord."

Ciel relaxed, but only a little. "Must you carry on like that?"

"In what other way should I 'carry on', master? You've never alluded that you care what I do with that particular body part, or with whom I do it."

"I don't," snapped Ciel. "I don't care what you do, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties to me."

"You're certain?" pressed Sebastian gently, watching him closely. Ciel refused to look at him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Sebastian noticed the way the boy adjusted his coat to cover his lap more securely, and he resisted another smile as understanding sunk in. "Young master seemed quite upset to hear of my little dalliance."

"I was just surprised," muttered the boy. "That's the end of it."

Sebastian watched him silently. Thanks to the help of the souls he'd consumed so far, Ciel was growing up, like other boys his age. He was going through puberty and it was only natural for him to being experiencing new urges. Sebastian knew enough about the mechanics of human beings and their life stages to understand how confusing this time of life could be. Looking at his master's profile and his fine bone structure, he predicted that Ciel would grow to be quite a fetching young man—if he could curb that wicked tongue of his.

"Sexuality is a natural thing," Sebastian said softly, "even for a fiend like myself. Even for reapers. Even some angels apparently enjoy a good romp, now and then. You don't need to think of yourself as some unclean thing for thinking about it."

"I said it's the end of it," said the boy firmly, his blush returning. "Hump everyone in Paris, if it pleases you. I don't care."

Somehow, Sebastian doubted that. The thought was more pleasing to him than it should have been.

* * *

A few nights later, they stepped out of the carriage in front of the Undertaker's shop, in London. Ciel was wearing a cape with a high neck that concealed the bottom half of his face, and his top hat shadowed the rest of his features. He walked with his customized cane—not out of any need for it, but out of comforting habit. He paused before the shop and he steeled himself.

"Let's get this over with."

Ciel started forward, but then he realized that his companion hadn't joined him. He half-turned and he sighed when he found Sebastian kneeling before a curious alley cat that had come to investigate him. The butler always carried homemade treats of dried meat biscuits in his pockets for any strays he came across, and he fed the cat some of them as he petted it.

"Yes, you're a very silky girl," Sebastian complimented the cat, smiling with bliss. "Do you enjoy my treats, dear lady?"

"Sebastian," called Ciel in a long-suffering tone. The one thing in the world that could distract his servant so completely from his duties was a wayward feline. This one—a silver tabby—seemed to appreciate the morsels he'd fed her and she rubbed against his leg and meowed for more.

"There is plenty more," promised Sebastian as he dug another handful out of the pouch in his other hand and scattered the treats on the cobblestones. He petted the cat as she ate, completely ignoring the young man now tapping his foot impatiently.

"_Sebastian_," snapped Ciel, loudly and sharply enough to draw the butler's attention. Ruby eyes looked up at him from beneath parted black locks, and Ciel had to admire the structure of the angular face they were set in. In some ways, Sebastian reminded him of a cat—even though his animal form was a raven. "Come along, you cat-loving pervert. We have business to do!"

Sebastian nodded contritely and got to his feet. He scattered a few more treats for his new friend before sealing the pouch and replacing it in an inner pocket. "Of course, sir."

* * *

When the bell rang, Undertaker looked up from the book he was writing in at his desk and he put his stylus back in its holder. He stood up as Ciel and Sebastian approached, and a slow, bright grin spread over his lips.

"Young Earl Phantomhive," he greeted, nodding his head. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you again."

Ciel loosened his cape enough to tug it down and reveal his face. "You don't seem very surprised."

Undertaker shrugged, chuckling under his breath. "I can't say that I am. Remember, young Earl, I foresaw your death."

"But you didn't foresee my resurrection," reasoned Ciel. "I find it a bit odd that you're so nonchalant about me walking into your shop, this evening."

Undertaker's grin relaxed, and he reached up to remove his hat. Sitting it on his desk, he circled around the piece of furniture to stand before the boy. "You seem to have grown a bit, since I last saw you. That's a remarkable feat, for someone who's reported to be a corpse. Let me have a look at you, hmm?"

Ciel allowed it, casting a warning look at Sebastian when the butler looked like he might try to interfere. He didn't flinch as the Undertaker cupped his chin and tilted his head back. He looked up at the reaper's angelic face as he pushed his bangs up with his other hand, so that he could get a closer look at him. The thin, shaped eyebrows arched thoughtfully as the Undertaker looked upon him with eyes that had not one, but two irises overlapping. There was no differentiating amongst reaper eye color and the strange biology of them. It was said that in exchange for their ability to see the afterlife, the Shinigami were all cursed with horrible near-sightedness. Oddly, the Undertaker didn't seem to have any trouble seeing without glasses, and Ciel could only assume it was because he'd given up his official position.

Why, then, was he still able to predict people's death, and wield a death scythe? It was a question Ciel had asked himself often after discovering the truth of Undertaker's nature, but he doubted he'd get a straight answer from him. A long, black fingernail traced the line of his cheek, leaving a faint red mark in its wake. Ciel's eyes changed in response, and Undertaker nodded, that riveting gaze holding his fast.

"I see. I wondered, but I couldn't be certain." He let his pale bangs drop again, concealing his eyes and half his face. "A funny thing happened, when I was stricken with that premonition."

"Funny in what way?" asked Ciel.

Undertaker walked back around to the other side of his desk, and he retrieved his hat. Placing it on his head, he tapped the nail of his pointer finger against his lips thoughtfully. "I was treated to a flash of vision. You appeared to be drowning, but then you opened your eyes and they had the slit pupils of a demon. A moment later, there was blood all around you, and your eyes closed again. I couldn't be sure if it was symbolic of your soul being eaten, or if you'd become like your butler."

Undertaker grinned at the two of them. "And now I know."

"That's what we came to discuss with you, actually." Ciel reached for his money pouch. "I'm prepared to compensate you for your silence. I know you don't care for coin, but even _you_ have to admit a bit of extra cash could help you with your business. You could have the cracks in the windows fixed, and do away with that leak in the roof."

Undertaker followed Ciel's gaze to the water spot and the cracks webbing out from it on the ceiling, where it always leaked when heavy rain came. This was England, after all, and it did rain often. "Hmm. That idea does have its merits, but you know I don't usually trade in coin, when it comes to information."

"I know," agreed Ciel. "So I'm offering this coin and whatever else you want, provided it's a reasonable request. Name your price, Undertaker."

The retired Shinigami considered it, for a moment. "Are you in a contract with some poor soul yet, Earl Phantomhive?"

"No, and I no longer answer to that name," explained Ciel. "I'm now Lord Ciel Dumont of Paris. Please try to remember that."

"Noted." The Undertaker looked between Ciel and Sebastian, and he suddenly began to chuckle.

"Would you care to share the joke?" invited Sebastian.

"Oh, I was just thinking of what it would be like, for a butler to have a butler. You know, there are these dolls in Russia. Open them up, and you find a smaller one inside. That's what the two of you remind me of."

"Are you planning to open me up?" Sebastian smiled politely at him, but his eyes flashed dangerously.

"Not just now," assured Undertaker. "But if you should be killed for any reason, you may end up on my table."

"I'll try to avoid that," answered the butler dryly. "Now, if you please, what price would you ask in exchange for your silence?"

"We have good reason for wanting my death to remain official in the Shinigami world as well as the human one," Ciel explained.

"Oh, I can imagine." Undertaker nodded. "If our dear old queen discovers her watchdog wasn't put down after all, London bridge could coming falling down on your estate and company."

Ciel blinked, surprised by the clear-headed observation. "Yes, exactly. If you need to take a moment to think about it, we could step outside."

"No need for that," assured the Undertaker with a negligent wave of his hand. "I've already decided on the form of entertainment you can provide me with, in addition to the coin to fix that blasted leak in my roof."

They both waited, but Undertaker just stood there grinning, clasping his hands together underneath his over-long sleeves. Ciel raised a brow. "Well?"

"I've never seen a transcended demon take a soul before. I'd like to watch you have your next meal, Lord Dumont."

Ciel's lips twisted in a grimace. "Is this a joke? With you, it's difficult to tell."

"No joke, young master," assured the Undertaker. "I've met only one of your hybrid kind in my long life, and I found her very interesting. You've still got a bit of human in you, after all. That's something your fine butler has always lacked. I think it would be entertaining to watch how you interact with your prey."

"And what if I'm not hungry?"

Undertaker smiled again. "Don't fib, now. I can sense the hunger radiating from both of you, but the difference between yourself and your companion is that you actually _need_ to eat, if you plan on getting any bigger. Am I right?"

"Uncannily so," agreed Sebastian in an admiring tone. "You have a good understanding of demonology."

"Half of it is only logic," answered Undertaker with a shrug. "What's left of logic in my head, anyhow. So, Lord Ciel, do we have an accord? Have one meal while I watch, and I solemnly vow my former associates won't hear a peep about your current situation from me."

Ciel was none too thrilled with the proposal, but he really had no choice. Undertaker was right; he still needed to consume souls to keep growing—whether he wanted to or not. He could see no other way out of it. He looked at Sebastian, who gave him an encouraging nod. The crimson eyes silently promised to be at his side, and it made him feel a little better.

"Very well, Undertaker. Let's not waste time. London is full of sinners to choose from, I have matters of the estate to get back to and the journey back to France is long."

* * *

"_That's_ his choice?"

Sebastian gently shushed the death god. "My young master won't feed on the souls of the innocent," he explained softly, watching the street below as Ciel approached the man he'd singled out. This one was a local, influential merchant who tore his own bastard child out of the arms of its prostitute mother and killed it, before her eyes.

"But don't the purer souls give your kind better sustenance?" persisted the Undertaker, obligingly lowering his voice to a whisper. "This is like swallowing the offal of humanity."

"Precisely," sighed Sebastian. "Don't get me started. Young master won't listen."

"Hmph. Poor boy." Undertaker sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position on the rooftop. "But your Ciel has a charm about him. Look at that fool, falling for his story so easily."

Sebastian smiled. This time, Ciel used the prey's sin to lure him. He approached the man and told him he was asked to seek him out by the Madam of a brothel he frequented. Telling him that another girl was laboring to give birth to another of his bastards was enough to draw the man's attention.

"Yes, 'my Ciel' is very good," he agreed, taking a moment to savor the taste of his master's name on his tongue for the first time. He'd never address him so commonly, though. He felt a certain amount of pride for the devious methods Ciel used to lure his prey to him. He really was making a fine demon, even if his choice of sustenance was misguided.

They got up and followed from the rooftops as Ciel climbed into the man's carriage with him, and when it turned down a sparsely populated street, both of them dropped down onto the street before the carriage.

"Whoa!" The driver sawed the reins to stop the twin horses, and the beasts whinnied in protest. "Hey, you…that's a good way ta get yerself run over!"

Undertaker pointed at his dark companion. "It was his idea."

"What's going on out there?" called the man inside the coach.

"Nothing, sir," called the driver, "it's just some drunk and his butler."

"I'm not drunk!" Undertaker protested in an insulted tone.

Sebastian bowed to the driver, ignoring the stomping hooves of the nervous horses. "I beg your pardon, but I'm not this man's butler. Undertaker, please feel free to join them inside of the carriage, while I relieve this man of his duty."

Unnerved by his strange talk and the way his eyes flashed red in the lantern light, the driver hastily reached for his pistol and drew it. "Not another step closer, you. I'd advise ya to move aside, or I'll—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Sebastian leaped from the street onto the coach in one motion, suddenly looming over the man with a smile. He caught hold of the wrist holding the pistol with one hand, and he covered his mouth with the other to muffle his scream as he shattered the wrist to make him drop the weapon.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't have helped you, anyway," Sebastian informed the now whimpering driver as the weapon clattered to the ground. "Don't worry; this will only hurt for a few moments."

Undertaker paused for a moment to watch as Sebastian pulled his hand aside to cover the driver's mouth with his own. Having more interest in the goings-on inside the carriage, where Ciel's prey could be heard calling out questions, the reaper opened the door and hopped in.

* * *

"Who in bloody hell are you?" demanded Christopher Allen when a man with more hair than a wig shop let himself into his carriage and took a seat across from him and his young companion.

The man smiled, displaying rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just an observer. Carry on, Lord Dumont."

The man looked at the boy sitting next to him. "'Lord'?" he repeated.

Then he saw the way the boy's eyes were glowing, and he witnessed the pupils elongate into cat-like slits. He cried out in shock and as his lips parted, so did the boy's. He felt something being pulled out of him, from the depths of his existence. It was uncomfortable and confusing at first, and then it rapidly became painful. Tendrils of some smoke-like substance flowed from his mouth into the boy's, passing the foot or so distance between them as if drawn to the boy. His thoughts scattered, and he began to forget who or what he was.

The last thought that went through Christopher Allen's mind was that his body should have reacted and saved him, but it just sat there wide-eyed and gape-mouthed as he was pulled steadily away from it. He was swallowed whole in a rush of darkness, to join the other souls that were now part of the boy demon.

* * *

"Well, I must say that was sloppy, compared to what I've seen of other demons."

Ciel swallowed several times to keep his gorge down. "Sorry to…disappoint you. It was a little distracting to have you sitting there watching, you know."

The empty shell of his victim flopped onto its side, mouth still open in a silent scream. Undertaker absently leaned forward to right it again, and he grinned at Ciel. "Ah, but I'm sure you'll improve. Hopefully your taste in souls will, as well."

"Oh, I forgot." Ciel wiped his frowning mouth with his sleeve. "You can sense these things, too."

Undertaker nodded. "I admire your gumption. Not even I would dine on a meal of maggots."

At the mention of maggots, Ciel couldn't hold back any longer. He shoved the door open and stumbled out of it, just as the heaving started. He was caught by strong hands and supported as he emptied his stomach in the street.

"I have you, young master," assured Sebastian softly. "Please try not to show off your newfound talent for vomiting for too long, however."

Ciel glared at him, before throwing up some more. Undertaker stepped out of the coach just as someone happened by at the end of the street and noticed them. Seeing the still carriage, the puking boy and the two men with him, the man called out.

"Everything okay, there? Are you folk hurt?"

"My son suffered some motion sickness," fibbed the Undertaker smoothly. "Nothing to be alarmed with. Carry on."

The man didn't linger, evidently taking his word for it. When he was gone, Undertaker's smile dropped. "We've probably lingered long enough. Let's return to my shop, and you can use the restroom to clean up."

Ciel nodded in agreement, his heaving finally abating. Sebastian wiped his mouth off and he coaxed him to put his arms around his neck. When he complied, the butler lifted him and the three of them left the scene. There were no fingerprints for the yard to find, and aside from the broken wrist the driver suffered, there were no physical injuries. The most ironic thing about it was that both victims would probably end up in Undertaker's shop for forensics and funeral preparation, by tomorrow.

* * *

They didn't bother questioning what motivated Undertaker to watch such a thing. His twisted logic was alien to both of them, and Ciel was wearied from his feeding. It should have infused him with more energy, but he shivered as the carriage carried them away from London and to the ferry. Sebastian removed his jacket and he covered the boy with it as Ciel curled up into a little ball on the seat.

"Sebastian…how many more do you think I have to eat?"

"I wish I knew," answered the butler. "I would think it's proportional to how much you need to grow. One for each inch, perhaps?"

Ciel sighed. "I don't know if I can do it. These souls are like a poison inside of me. I feel like I'm going to turn into something even more loathsome than I already am, if I keep going like this."

At that moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window's reflection and he shouted in alarm, backpedaling away from the window and into the demon sitting beside him. Sebastian caught him and tried to sooth him, wondering what on earth Ciel saw.

"Shh, young master. There's nothing outside."

"N-no…it's what's _inside_," insisted the boy. He covered his face with his hands. "D-don't look at me! I'm hideous!"

At once, Sebastian understood. Ciel must have caught a glimpse of his demonic soul in the reflection. Sebastian often called his own his "true" form, because he believed that there was more truth in ugliness than in beauty. He only ever allowed that side of him to come out under moments of extreme duress, when the only alternative was failure. He'd last let it out when battling Ash/Angela to save his dying master and put a stop to the angel's madness.

"My lord, what you saw was nothing for you to be afraid of," explained Sebastian, holding the shivering boy close. "It was part of your true nature."

"It was…repulsive," gasped Ciel, clutching at Sebastian's shirt as he turned in his arms and buried his face against his chest. "My m-mouth split wide…too big for my face. I had bigger fangs than Grell!"

Sebastian nodded in understanding. "That's the darkest side of our nature, young master. If it helps, try to look at it this way: humans have an extremely ugly and dark side as well, as do Shinigami and angels. We demons simply have a side of us that reflects our darkest parts more accurately. We're more honest."

"That's not comforting," muttered the boy petulantly, still trembling in his arms. "What if my face stays like this?"

"It won't," promised Sebastian. "The manifestation was self-contained. It didn't physically appear. You were looking at your own soul."

"I don't believe you."

Sebastian sighed. "Have I ever lied to you before, my lord?"

Ciel hesitated and shook his head, face still buried against his chest. He seemed so young now, and so different from the Ciel that Sebastian had come to respect and admire so much. The butler leaned back and he slipped one hand under his charge's chin, urging him to tilt his head back and look up at him. Ciel shook his head in denial, and Sebastian gripped his chin firmly.

"Look at me," ordered Sebastian.

Uncommonly timid, Ciel reluctantly obeyed. Sebastian gazed upon his face observantly, and the light of passing street lamp briefly highlighted it through the window. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look," Sebastian assured him. "You appear the same as always. There aren't any fangs, and your mouth is the same as it ever was."

Ciel reached up hesitantly to touch his own lips. He parted them, and he pressed his fingers against his teeth to count them. He sighed in relief to find them all human in shape and size. Looking a bit embarrassed, the boy met Sebastian's eyes again.

"How can you be sure it didn't physically appear? I hid my face before I turned to you."

"Because manifesting the deeper soul is a feat that requires strength you don't have, yet," explained Sebastian. "It won't happen on its own, and you can't call it on a whim. You'll need training, if you ever want to access that part of you beyond a glimpse in a reflection."

"I see." Ciel shivered again. "Is that what you didn't want me to see, when you fought the angel and asked me to keep my eyes closed?"

"Yes."

"I…might have expected it from you," confessed Ciel. "But not from myself. I apologize for my hysteria."

"It was a shock, I'm sure," excused Sebastian, "and a master need not apologize to his servant. Just rest against me, my lord. I'll keep you warm and wake you when we reach the ferry."

Ciel didn't argue with that. He relaxed against Sebastian and laid his cheek against his chest, while the butler straightened up the jacket covering him. "I don't think I want to learn how to make that thing come out for real," Ciel decided at length.

Sebastian smiled softly. No, of course he wouldn't. Ciel had enough issues with believing himself unclean, without turning into a true monster. Human sensibilities aside, the demon soul wasn't a pleasant thing to behold.

"Sebastian?"

The butler unconsciously nuzzled the boy's soft hair. "Hmm?"

"I think…maybe it's time for me to consider a slight change of diet."

Sebastian nodded. "I think that would be wise, young master."

"No innocents," insisted Ciel, "but perhaps something a little less evil."

Sebastian suppressed a chuckle. "Of course, young master."

* * *

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 4: Growth

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

The deal with the three Shinigami seemed to be holding. Ciel continued with his lessons—both those of the mortal world and those of the demon world. He kept himself busy at all times, and he procrastinated feeding until he noticed he'd stopped growing again. Sebastian warned him that until he reached physical maturity, it was important to consume souls. It was with great reluctance that the young lord resumed his soul hunting. He had to admit that his brief fasting made him feel anxious, cranky and a bit shaky.

It certainly wasn't easy for him. His first instinct was naturally to go after the most loathsome criminals; human trash, as Sebastian called them. His butler again reminded him how sick it made him when he devoured those souls, however, and he encouraged him to adhere to his decision to at least try something less corrupt. Ciel agreed, but he was so distracted by thoughts of how terrible it would be to take not only the life, but the very soul of someone that had never harmed anyone.

Sebastian promised to help him, and as usual, he came through for him.

* * *

"Young master, I've brought you a soul to consume."

Ciel looked up from his paperwork with surprise, and he set his stylus aside. "You brought it _here_, to the house?"

Sebastian bowed to him. "Young master was so busy with the weekly affairs of the estate, I thought I could make a special delivery for him."

"That isn't funny, Sebastian."

The butler straightened up and held his gaze. "It wasn't meant to be. My duty to you is to keep you safe and healthy. You've been so caught up in your work, you haven't had the chance to get out yourself."

"You were supposed to find someone and bring _me_ to _them_, so that I could determine whether to…eat them…or not." Ciel compressed his lips with irritation. "For someone who despises dogs, you're certainly good at fetching."

Sebastian smirked. "You know, young master, cats often bring their kills to their human companions—sometimes still alive. It's their way of providing for them, you see. Please don't liken my hunting to that of a canine."

Ciel couldn't resist. "Woof."

Sebastian raised a brow. "Meow."

The boy tried to fight his smile, but his lips twitched with amusement at the playful exchange. He sobered and cleared his throat, reminding himself that his servant had just dragged his next meal here, to his home.

"Where is he?"

"It's a woman, my lord," corrected Sebastian. "She's in the drawing room, enjoying raspberry cakes and tea. Perhaps you should join her, if it pleases you."

Ciel uttered a low curse. "Tell me about her."

"She's a local baker, originally from Reims. She is thirty-five years of age, with no remaining family and no hope for the future. She is suicidal, my lord."

He looked up at the older demon, surprised. "Why?"

"She's been diagnosed with terminal cancer, young master. Mrs. Fournier lost her husband and all three of her daughters in a plague that struck close to ten years ago. She came to Paris to work for her uncle, and he left the business to her when he passed on. Unfortunately, the disease that killed him runs in the family. She'll succumb to it before the year is finished, and it will be a slow, painful death."

"Then she knows why she's here?"

Sebastian nodded. "She came of her own free will, my lord. She wants someone to end her suffering."

"But does she understand what she's asking for?" pressed Ciel. "Does she realize that she isn't just going to lose her life, but her soul?"

"Technically, she won't be 'losing' it," corrected Sebastian, "she'll be giving it to you, just as you were once prepared to give yours to me. The gates of Heaven will be closed to her, but the soul will continue on inside—"

"Yes, yes…inside of me," groused the boy with a wave of his hand. "I know all of this. I just want to be sure you didn't charm this woman into mistaking the truth of her situation for something else."

"I was completely honest with her, I assure you."

Ciel wasn't quite convinced. "And she believed you?"

Sebastian's eyes changed briefly, revealing his hidden nature. "I demonstrated enough proof to convince her, my lord. Would you like to meet her yourself?"

Ciel heaved a sigh and he rubbed his forehead beneath the thick fringe of bangs hanging over it. "I suppose I might as well, since you brought her here. In the future, however, I would appreciate eating out. I'd rather not cast a shadow on this house with the unsavory business of soul consumption."

Sebastian bowed. "As you wish, my lord. Should you choose to devour her, I shall dispose of her remains quickly and efficiently. She's already agreed that her body should serve as fertilizer for the gardens."

Ciel stared at him, half suspecting a joke. Seeing the utter sincerity on the butler's face, he shook his head in amazement. "Now I really _must_ meet this woman."

* * *

She had ginger hair held back with a bonnet, and her fair features were smattered with freckles. Ciel could sense the illness radiating from her, even from this distance. She used both hands to drink from the delicate teacup, and they shook as she brought the hot drink to her lips. The silver plate of elegant teacakes Sebastian left for her remained untouched. At once, Ciel felt pity for her. Though wasting from illness, her face reminded him somewhat of his deceased aunt's. She looked up at him with pain-clouded, hazel eyes and she set her teacup down on the coffee table, standing up from her seat on the high-back loveseat with visible difficulty.

"Enchante, mon petit," she greeted, giving Ciel a tremulous smile. She examined him with faint awe, and she dipped a clumsy curtsy to him and spoke in a mixture of English and French. "Pardon moi, my lord. I should address you with more respect, but…you are so young. You make me think of my children."

Ciel bit back his annoyance at being addressed as a child. He was, after all, still smaller than normal boys his age. "Please, sit. I would like to discuss the terms of the arrangement my servant made. I want to hear your take on it."

Ciel took a seat in the cushioned armchair across from her as she sat back down, and he quietly thanked Sebastian as the butler poured a cup of chamomile tea for him. "Leave us," instructed the boy.

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"Madame, did my butler explain to you in detail just what will happen to you, if you go through with this?"

The woman nodded. "He did. He explained to me that if I do this, I can finally see an end to my suffering and I can help a child, as well."

Ciel nodded, and he deliberately let his eyes change as he looked at her. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, but she didn't shrink away from him. "And you're certain," he said softly, "that this is what you want? This isn't just death, Madame. This could last indefinitely, and I can't guarantee that your soul won't be destroyed with me, if I ever die."

"I understand, Monsieur." She swallowed and she wiped at her eyes with trembling fingers. "I have nothing here. I tried to end it myself, but I was too afraid."

"Afraid of what?" pressed Ciel. "Hell?" It was a mortal sin to kill oneself, according to Christians.

"Afraid I would fail," she answered. "I do not believe in Heaven or Hell. I barely believe in souls. I just want the pain to end, so I can finally rest."

Ceil's heart went out to her again, though his expression remained politely impassive. "I see. There's no hope at all for a cure?"

"None." She coughed into her hand. "Now, it is only a matter of time. This sickness will eat me alive, Lord Dumont. I don't wish to go that way. Your manservant said that you can end it quickly, and it will provide you with the strength you need to get better, as well."

Ciel grimaced. Sebastian really knew how to play on people's sympathies, when he wanted to. "I _can_ end it quickly," he assured her. He'd never taken the time to be gentle with any of his previous victims before, but for this suffering lady, he would do his best. "But there will be some pain."

Her lips quirked into a bitter, humorless smile. "I'm accustomed to pain, mon petit. If this will be the last of it I ever feel, that is enough for me."

Ciel put his tea aside, and he got up to join her on the loveseat. He could sense the purity of her soul. She had lived a good life, and while no soul was completely clean, hers could be counted amongst the most wholesome. "Are you ready, then?"

She nodded and folded her hands together in her lap. "Oui, Lord Dumont. I am ready."

"Then close your eyes, try to relax, and think of something that makes you happy," Ciel advised. "I'll make this as quick and painless as possible."

She closed her eyes as advised, and a tear trickled from the corner of the left one. "Thank you. I don't care if you call yourself a demon. To me, you are an angel."

Ciel could have told her that angels weren't always the gentle creatures of light that people were brought up to believe them to be, but he didn't want to spoil the image for her, if it brought comfort. She didn't mean it literally, anyhow. She had no faith in Heaven or Hell, and even though she had proof of the existence of demons, he could sense that she didn't really believe in angels. A part of him wondered how it was possible for someone to believe one without believing in the other, but he himself doubted the existence of a soul up until the day he consumed his first.

Putting aside those questions in the face of his hunter, Ciel closed in on his prey, and he kept his promise to her. He took far greater care to extract her soul quickly and efficiently than he'd ever taken before, and she passed away within heartbeats.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Sebastian knocked on the arch frame of the drawing room, before entering. "Young master, do you or our guest require anything of me?"

When he didn't get an answer, he poked his head through the archway to have a look. He found Ciel half-sprawled on the loveseat, next to a peacefully dead Mrs. Fournier. She could have passed as being asleep, if it weren't for the utter stillness of her chest. Ciel's heavy-lashed blue eyes were droopy with bliss, like someone in an opium swoon. His pupils were dilated wide with the drugging effect of consuming a worthy soul, and his head lolled as Sebastian approached. He blinked sleepily up at the butler, appearing to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"It was…amazing," sighed the boy. "Like…like those tarts you make, with the ice cream on top. She…tickled on the way down." Ciel then giggled, and the sound was indeed startling, coming from such a serious, reserved boy.

Sebastian smiled at him. "Yes, I know. Let's see about getting you off to bed for a nap, shall we? I would have you enjoy this moment in utter comfort."

Ciel sloppily put his arms around his neck as the tall butler bent over him and lifted him gently. His breath tickled Sebastian's jaw as he laid his head on his shoulder and sighed. He very nearly dropped the boy when Ciel suddenly nuzzled the side of his neck in an uncommonly affectionate manner.

"Now I know why you per…prefer…willing souls," slurred Ciel. "I feel so…strange…but good."

"You're intoxicated by the taste of a worthy soul," Sebastian explained, carrying his master out of the drawing room and toward the stairs. "This is how we demons gain a taste of paradise, young master. This is our ambrosia. You can have this every time, if you wish."

Ciel yawned and nuzzled him again, causing Sebastian to nearly trip. Even in his euphoric state of mind, the boy clung to his stubborn morals. "I won't…eat innocents, unless they want to die anyway." His fingers curled against Sebastian's chest, closing around his tie.

Knowing that Ciel didn't mean to distract or confuse him, Sebastian rudely shoved his impulsive reactions into a mental closet and reminded himself that Ciel was still a child and his master. The boy began to snore softly as his bliss carried him into much-needed sleep, and Sebastian held him just a little closer as he carried him into his bedroom and eased him onto the bed. He removed his shoes and stockings, and then he saw to tucking him in. It took a bit of finesse to pull the comforter down and cover Ciel up with it, but Sebastian managed after some stealthy maneuvering.

Sebastian gazed down at his slumbering young master thoughtfully for a few moments, one gloved fingertip pressing against his lips. If he could convince Ciel to keep feeding like this, the boy would reach adulthood with little trouble, just as he wanted. He might even gain strength to match his wit, if Sebastian could persuade him to continue feeding after he matured. Chances were, however, Ciel would refuse to consume more souls than necessary to grow into adulthood. He had no desire to become as powerful as his butler, and why _should_ he? Sebastian was bound to him forever, and he would protect him and do his bidding for as long as they both existed.

Sebastian sighed, and he brushed a fingertip against the fringe of Ciel's lashes. "You always did enjoy presenting me with challenges, my lord. Sleep well."

He left the master bedroom, then. He had a body to dispose of and a garden to fertilize.

* * *

William was more than a bit disconcerted to find Grell waiting in the head administrator's office. His understudy was there with him, leaning back in one of the chairs with a distinctly bored expression on his young face. Evidently, all three of them had been summoned and William didn't like that one bit. He was further distracted by the sight of his former partner and present rival. For once, the redhead wasn't wearing his signature coat, taken from his former mistress when he resigned as her butler by murdering her. The item was draped over one of the chairs and Grell was bending over their superior's desk, looking at a glowing map spread out over it. His trousers molded perfectly to his bottom, and his vivid hair had fallen to either side to afford a perfect view.

"Do either of you know what this is about?" William asked, tearing his gaze off of Sutcliff's attractive derriere. He deliberately schooled his features into a bland mask as Grell straightened up and turned around, taking his attention off of the soul-tracking map. Ronald turned his head and looked up and back at the brunet supervisor, his fingers threaded together behind his dual-colored head.

"Beats me," yawned the younger Shinigami. "They called me in here just when I was about to set up a date with one of the girls from Human Resources. I hope this won't take long. Senpai, any idea what we're doing here?"

Grell shrugged, leaning back against the desk and gazing at William with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. "It's probably just a routine meeting about the new batch of recruits. He always presses us to crack down on them, Will." His gaze went to his understudy and he frowned. "Get your feet off of the desk. Don't embarrass me!"

William raised a brow as Grell shoved his understudy's feet off the department head's desk. It was easy to forget how strict the redhead could be with his own trainees, when the situation warranted it. Grell behaved so ridiculous when he was off the clock or away from other reapers, it was hard to picture him as a professional.

Ronald immediately dropped his feet and straightened up in his chair with a soft apology. The door opened and another man came in. He was refined, tall and slightly older in appearance than Grell and William. His rich brown hair was wavy and worn semi-long, just touching his shoulders. It was neatly combed back from a face of masculine appeal, with defined cheekbones and a dimpled chin. Since their kind aged so slowly, it was impossible to tell whether he was in his mid-thirties or over a thousand years old.

William gave the man a respectful little bow and stepped aside to give him room as he entered. "Good afternoon, Administrator Clayworth."

Grell had the good sense to give a bow as well, and he moved away from the desk as their superior approached it. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," greeted Jacob Clayworth. He gestured at the visitor chairs. "Please, have a seat."

William sat down on the far left chair, and he suppressed a sigh as Grell purposely took the chair next to him, rather than sit beside his understudy. He tensed when the redhead's leg bumped against his, but he refused to make a scene by shying away from him. He wished he could banish the attraction he felt to him, but ever since that kiss on the roof and his inadvertent glimpse of Grell's sexual activities with Michaelis, he couldn't take his mind off of him.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" Mr. Clayworth sat down and he retrieved some paperwork from a drawer in his desk. He adjusted his glasses as he read over them. "As you know, we recently had a mix up within the Personnel Department, concerning one Ciel Phantomhive. I believe all three of you have encountered the deceased and his demon butler before?"

"On more than one occasion, sir," answered William with a nod. His heartbeat picked up, and he reminded himself to stay calm. He dared not glance at Grell to see his reaction, and he hoped to hell the man had the sense to keep his expression neutral. Ronald, of course, wasn't involved in the manipulation of the Phantomhive death records, so he had nothing to hide.

Clayworth watched him for a moment, before speaking again. "We haven't had a miscalculation like that for nearly one-hundred years. Mr. Sutcliff, you arrived on the scene of Phantomhive's true death and collected his records, did you not?"

Grell nodded. "Yes sir. I filed the report that very day."

"And you didn't notice anything strange about his death?" pressed the older man.

"No, Mr. Clayworth," answered Grell in a sincere tone. "He was gone, and there was nothing suspicious in the cinematic records. He drowned to death."

"I see." Clayworth looked at William. "Because of the unusual circumstances, I sent that record to an old associate, who was once both a top seer and soul collector of this organization. Though he's retired, I respect his opinion and I wanted to see if he found anything unusual in the documents. I believe you retrieved the record from the Undertaker when he finished examining it, Mr. Spears?"

"Yes, I did," answered William, wondering why the man was asking questions he'd already answered in his report. He felt like a bug under a microscope. "As stated in my report upon returning those records to the library, Undertaker shared your opinion that the mix-up was strange, but he found nothing unusual in the records. He himself predicted Earl Phantomhive's death on the same day that our seers did, so something must have changed behind the scenes."

"Indeed," agreed the older Shinigami. "His demon didn't devour his soul. Instead, it seems Sebastian Michaelis put forth every effort to preserve the boy's life. Mr. Sutcliff, I believe you were there for some of that."

"I was," answered Grell. "Sebby…er…Sebastian was in a bit of a bind handling another demon butler and his insane little master, who were both after Ciel Phantomhive. I helped."

"And that was very close to the date and time that Ciel Phantomhive was meant to die, according to our seers and the Undertaker."

Grell squirmed a little. "Maybe, sir, but his butler saved him. He was alive, when I left."

"Excuse me," Ronald said, raising his hand, "but may I ask what I'm doing here? I wasn't involved in any of this."

"No, but you've fought Sebastian Michaelis and aided your superiors with other events relating to the aforementioned demon and his master," explained Clayworth. "I'd like to hear your perspective. Did you ever notice anything exceptionally strange about the deceased?"

"Well, yeah," answered Ronald with a shrug. "Ciel Phantomhive was weird to begin with, sir. For a start, he was only thirteen but he acted twenty. He sold his soul to a demon that never collected on the bargain, and I don't even _know_ why that happened. The kid didn't act anything like other boys his age, so to be completely honest, everything about him, his butler and his whole situation was weird, to me."

"But did you ever witness anything that might explain how Phantomhive managed to escape his predicted death the first time, or why his demon did not devour his soul?" pressed Clayworth.

Ron drummed his fingers on his knee and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. He shook his head. "No sir. If I were a betting man, I'd say Michaelis might have gotten a soft spot for him, after serving him for so long. Maybe he lost his nerve and decided to let the boy's soul go."

William snorted.

Clayworth looked at him with an arched brow. "Something you'd like to add, Mr. Spears?"

"I just find it difficult to imagine someone like Sebastian Michaelis suffering even a moment of compassionate feeling, even for the boy he's practically raised for the past two years."

"But why else would he let Sempai come and collect his cinematic records?" demanded Ronald. He combed aside an errant lock of blond hair that had fallen over his left eye. "Mr. Michaelis could have devoured that kid's soul long before any of us could have arrived on the scene to send it on its way, thanks to that mix up. Nobody would have even known Phantomhive died, if he hadn't contacted Sempai Sutcliff."

"That's true," William was forced to concede. Having listened to Grell's direct account of the reaping and being aware of the truth behind Ciel's nature, he needed to think fast. "I recall Michaelis mentioning that the butler known as Claude had meddled with Ciel's soul."

Grell nodded. "He was trying to corrupt it. I think Sebby just found it unappetizing, by the end."

William was impressed by his improvising, but he really hated hearing Grell use that pet name for the demon. It bespoke affection that shouldn't be there, and he could tell by the frowning look on their superior's face that Clayworth thought so, too.

"Be that as it may," William said, before Sutcliff could dig himself any deeper, "these mistakes have happened in the past, and we have everything straightened out, now."

"Yes," sighed the head administrator, "we do. However, that demon is still at large, is he not?"

Grell cast an annoyed, sidelong glance at William and the brunet ignored it. Of course, he reported that he'd spotted Sebastian in Paris. It was a requirement to report any possible complications that could interfere with Shinigami judgment. Soul-sucking demons happened to be one of them, and despite his agreement with Ciel, William felt obligated to report the butler's presence. He didn't mention Ciel or their chat, of course, but he still had to follow _some_ semblance of protocol.

"The demon butler is still present on this plane. I believe he was seeking out a new contract, but I couldn't be certain. He fled like a coward when Sutcliff and I confronted him."

"I see." Clayworth wrote something down. "We've obviously got enough work on our hands, without worrying overly about a single demon. I want the three of you to keep a sharp eye out for any signs of interference from this one, if only because he's made somewhat of a name for himself. We'll always lose some souls to his kind and that can't be helped, but do try to prevent him from becoming a terrible nuisance."

"Of course," agreed William with a nod.

"I'm happy to keep an eye on him," answered Grell with a Cheshire cat smile.

"I'll give him the business end of my scythe, if he gets in our way," promised Ronald.

"Very well, then. You're all dismissed. Good work."

* * *

"Just what in hell was that?" William demanded under his breath when Ronald split up with them and he and Grell were alone together in the corridor.

"What was what?" Grell frowned with confusion at him, adjusting his red coat.

"The fawning," answered William crossly.

Grell's frown deepened. "I wasn't fawning! Yes, the head administrator is a strapping, handsome specimen of man, but I've decided not to flirt with other men in front of you, from now on. It may help you come to your senses about us, sooner."

"There is no 'us'," insisted William, "and I wasn't referring to Mr. Clayworth. I was talking about your demon lover. Was it entirely necessary to spout off that ridiculous pet name in front of the head administrator?"

"Oh, that." Grell's frown turned into a little grin, and he shrugged delicately. "Don't be jealous, Will. It's habitual, that's all. You could have me all to yourself, you know. All you need to do is take me, and I'm yours."

The quietly passionate declaration put images in William's head that made him flush, and he willed his body to behave itself and not react visibly to the promise. "You're reading too much into that single encounter we had, Sutcliff. Stop deluding yourself and—"

He didn't get to complete his sentence. As they passed by a utility closet, Grell caught hold of his tie, opened the door and dragged William into it in three swift motions. The brunet stumbled and his glasses went askew. He found himself pushed up against the wall as the door slammed shut, and for a moment, the small space was pitch black. Grell clicked on the overhead light then, and William broke into a sweat as those long-lashed bedroom eyes gazed into his.

"Am I deluding myself?" Grell closed the distance between their faces, and he rubbed his against William's like a cat. His hands settled on the brunet's hips and he kissed his jaw softly, his lips soft and velvety. "I didn't imagine that passion, my cold, perfect prince. I felt it in your kiss, and I'll have it again."

"You seem so certain of that," murmured William, his hands resting on Grell's waist of their own accord. He should have pushed him away, but his lips felt so good against his skin…especially when they kissed their way down to his throat.

"Your pride is getting in the way," sighed Grell huskily, "but as I said; I can wait."

His hands slid around William's hips to his backside, and when he gave it a firm squeeze, the brunet's groin tightened further in his pants. "I could top, if you want," purred Grell. "I usually prefer to be submissive, but for you, I'd do anything. Anything at all, Will. I want you, and you wouldn't need to be jealous of Bassy if you would just admit you want me too."

The mention of the demon spoiled William's mood. Remembering that Sebastian Michaelis had put his hands and lips on Grell's body, and the redhead had gladly reciprocated, William pushed him away, gasping.

"Enough," he said, his voice unsteady with desire and conflicting disgust. "Even if I wanted to be with you, I couldn't. We work on the same department and you've been tainted by that demon."

He expected Grell to keep trying, given that the redhead seemed to have issues taking "no" for an answer. To his surprise, Grell just sighed, his crimson brows hedging beneath his unruly bangs.

"Still using that as an excuse, eh? All right then, William. I'll wait for you to come to your senses, but don't expect me to stay celibate for long while I'm doing so. A lady has needs, you know."

Rolling his eyes, William opened the door and stepped out. He squirmed uncomfortably as he looked up and down the corridor, and he decided a trip to the restrooms to relieve his condition was warranted. Grell came out behind him as he walked away, and he could feel those sultry eyes branding him from head to toe.

"I'm the master of my passions," murmured William. "They aren't the master of me."

* * *

After his experience with the baker, finding suitable prey came a bit easier for Ciel. It wasn't necessary to seek out the most loathsome individuals, nor was he required to bruise his conscience by feeding on unwilling innocents. It was simply a matter of finding the right people, and he began to understand Sebastian's logic better as days went by. The butler graciously didn't mention his behavior whilst intoxicated by the feeding swoon, and Ciel slowly learned how to tolerate it better. Sebastian teased him about being such a picky eater, but Ciel was adamant.

He watched over his staff and loved ones from afar, making sure to have Elizabeth under additional protection, even if she didn't know it. Ciel resumed growing as another year passed, and his fifteenth birthday came and went. It occurred to him that in a few years, He might be able to return to the family manor under the guise he'd prepared, but he didn't want to risk going back too soon. He needed to finish growing to manhood, before he even considered returning home. His face would change enough with maturity for him to convince people he wasn't Ciel returning from the grave, or a twin separated at birth. If he returned now, looking exactly as he'd left despite being slightly taller, it would invoke too much suspicion.

Sebastian seemed to sense his impatience, and he kept Ciel busy when everyday tutoring and work didn't eat up his time. He began to emphasize fencing lessons, and he even began to train Ciel in martial arts. It was during one of the latter lessons that Ciel got his final confirmation that he was indeed growing into manhood, and his desires were maturing to reflect that, as well.

* * *

"Much better, young master," approved Sebastian as the boy successfully blocked his chop. "Let's see how you are with a follow-up, shall we?"

Ciel cursed when the butler's leg swept his feet out from under him, while he was distracted with blocking off his hands. He went down on the mat and Sebastian followed him, pinning his slim body down with ease.

"Never allow flashy moves to distract you," advised the butler, his crimson eyes calmly staring into Ciel's. "You must remember at all times that your opponent has other body parts they can strike you with. Awareness is the key."

"U-understood," Ceil answered unsteadily, aware of the feel of Sebastian's body weighing him down in a way he'd never been, before. Sebastian had shielded him with his own body on several occasions in the past, but something was different, this time. Now Ciel couldn't help but map out every contour of his companion's lean, strong body as it pressed down on his.

Sebastian frowned at the stricken look on the young man's face. "Have I injured you, my lord? I thought I was mindful not to be too rough."

Ciel swallowed, his face going charmingly pink. "No, I'm not hurt. Just a bit winded from the fall." He felt his body starting to react wantonly to the intimate contact, and he started to panic. "Get off of me."

Sebastian started to do so, but he wasn't moving fast enough to suit him. Ciel pushed against his chest, feeling overwhelmed with confusion, desire and shame. "Get off! Get _off!_"

The butler complied with more haste, and he stared at the teenager as Ciel rolled onto his side, putting his back to him. He rolled into a ball and shut his eyes, biting his lip.

"Master, what troubles you?"

Ciel shook his head. He couldn't give voice to his angst if he tried. He didn't know how to explain it, because he didn't fully understand it himself. "I just need to be alone for a little while. Leave me, Sebastian."

There was some hesitation from the butler, before his light footsteps padded over the wooden floor of the sparring room. He'd built it onto the house himself, for just this purpose.

"I'll prepare a brandy for you, my lord," offered Sebastian, "if it pleases you."

Ciel thought about it, and he nodded. Usually, Sebastian would prepare an herbal tea infusion to soothe him whenever he got upset, but brandy sometimes helped more. "Yes, that would be good. Thank you."

Sebastian left, then, leaving Ciel alone and curled up on the sparring mat. The young man felt the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the windows, hitting his back. He lifted his hand and he watched the shadow it cast on the mat. His father used to sometimes do shadow puppets for him, when he awoke with nightmares. Ciel tried to make his hand into a bunny shape, and he took a shuddering breath and sniffed when he succeeded.

"I suppose I can't criticize that red pervert for swooning over my butler anymore," he whispered. "I've begun to do it, myself."

The realization didn't gladden him. He never would have dreamed he'd develop an attraction for other men, and after what happened to make him summon Sebastian in the first place; he doubted he could ever have a healthy relationship with one.

"It isn't his fault, though," reasoned Ciel with a sigh. Sebastian had done nothing to invite these feelings; he'd simply carried on with his duties as usual. Ciel was the perverted one, here.

He sniffed again and he pretended to make the shadow bunny talk, imagining his father's rich, confident voice assuring him that there were no monsters in the room.

* * *

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 5: Reflection

_Author's note: I want to thank everyone for their feedback, so far. I'm glad people are enjoying the story, and the encouragement is always a pleasure._

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

"Apricot Chamord Brie, sir. Roasted apricots, apples, toasted pecans, and raspberries in pastry-wrapped Brie cheese, with a raspberry brandy glaze. I hope you find it to your liking."

Ciel looked down at the en croûte dish, and he had to admit that it looked delicious. Sebastian had made it for him at his request—not because he needed food any longer, but because it comforted him to eat now and then, as if he were still human. He watched as Sebastian poured a glass of sparkling rose champagne to accompany it, and he placed his napkin in his lap and began to cut into it.

"Thank you, Sebastian. This will do."

The butler bowed to him. "I'll leave you to it, then. Should you require anything else from me, you need only call."

Ciel nodded, and he savored his first bite of the dish. He would have thought his taste would change with his transition, but perhaps it was because he was a "hybrid" of sorts that he could still enjoy the same foods he'd appreciated as a mortal.

He finished his meal in silence, drinking the entire glass of champagne before calling for Sebastian again and getting out of his seat. The raven-haired demon arrived in the dining room within moments, and he offered a hot towel to Ciel to wipe his hands and face off with.

"I've organized your mail on the desk in your study," announced Sebastian. "Would you like a milk bath tonight, young master?"

Ciel was suddenly thankful for the hot towel when he blushed beneath it. The flush to his cheeks could be blamed on the heat. "I think it's time I begin bathing myself, Sebastian."

An elegant, black brow lifted over the opaque, narrow crimson eyes. "Oh? Have I been drawing your baths in a way that isn't to your liking?"

"No." Ciel made himself meet those hypnotic eyes, and he was proud of how steady his voice sounded. "I simply think that I'm at an age now where I should at least be able to bathe my own body and brush my own teeth before bedtime. You may continue to draw my baths, but I prefer privacy when I take them, from now on. That goes for dressing myself, too."

"I admire young master's determination to be more independent," said the butler graciously, "but are you certain you're ready to try dressing yourself? As I recall, your last attempt to tie your own shoes was a miserable failure."

Ciel gave him an annoyed look. "I was younger then, and under duress. I'll manage."

Sebastian smiled softly. "Of course, you will."

"Don't patronize me. I'm going into the study to work, and I'd like a cup of Earl Grey and silence. Do you think you can manage that?"

Sebastian bowed at the waist, un-offended by his petulance. "What sort of butler would I be, if I couldn't?"

With a little huff, Ciel left the dining room to take care of the day's business.

* * *

"I can do this," Ciel muttered to himself later that night. "It isn't _that_ difficult. Commoners dress themselves all the time."

He inadvertently poked the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he struggled to get the buttons unfastened on his shirt. He'd managed to remove his cravat without strangling himself, and he got his shoes and stockings off with relative ease. The jacket and pants came next without an epic struggle, but the little pearl buttons on his shirt were proving to be a challenge.

"This is ridiculous," sighed the young man, watching his own fingers fumble with the buttons in the mirror. I can play the violin and the piano, I can handle a foil with pinpoint precision, but I can't unbutton a simple bloody shirt!"

"Young master," Sebastian's voice called from the other side of the bathroom door, "do you require my assistance?"

Hearing the faint amusement in that voice, Ciel scowled. "I'll call you if I require your help," he reminded sternly. "And you can stop smirking, now."

"What remarkable vision young master has, to be able to see through a solid door."

Ciel fought a grin. "I can hear it in your voice. Is sarcasm your newest talent?"

"Well, I must keep up with my lord," replied Sebastian's muffled voice. "He's developed so many new skills, such as vomiting, tripping over his shoelaces and inventing creative new swear words for buttons. I wouldn't want to fall behind."

"Enough," Ciel ordered, caught between the urge to giggle and the desire to yank the door open and poke Sebastian warningly. "If I wanted a jester, I would have hired one."

"As you wish, master," answered Sebastian. "Though you may want to finish undressing, before your bath gets cold."

The teenager sighed and glanced at the steaming water in the deep, clawed tub. He resumed his efforts, and he got the shirt halfway unbuttoned when he happened to look into his own eyes in the reflection and things...changed. Ciel's eyes widened as he watched his irises go red, watched his pupils elongate into slits. His mouth seemed to split open to reveal rows of sharp teeth, and he covered his eyes with a shout and backpedaled away from the basin and the mirror hanging over it. His feet got tangled up in the bathmat and he fell to the floor, hitting his head on the side of the tub with a shout of pain.

The door burst open before he even finished falling, and Sebastian came in to squat smoothly at his side. Ciel blushed and tugged his shirt down over his groin as his butler caught him up in his arms. He winced when the gloved fingers gently probed his skull, where he'd hit his head.

"What happened?" demanded Sebastian in an authoritative tone generally reserved for other servants.

"Cover up the mirror," Ciel answered.

Satisfied that he wasn't bleeding from the scalp, the butler looked over his shoulder at the item in question. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said cover it up!" Ciel kept his face covered with one hand, while holding his shirt down with the other and tucking his bare legs under him.

"Very well, young master," replied Sebastian in a calm, soothing voice. "No need to get anxious."

Ciel peeked through his fingers as Sebastian took one of the bathrobes off the hooks on the wall and covered the mirror up with it. The demon butler turned to regard him with curious ruby eyes. "There." He studied Ciel, and an expression of understanding crossed his handsome features. "You saw your demon soul again, I presume?"

Ciel nodded, still covering half his face with one hand. He covertly felt his mouth and he sighed with relief to get confirmation that it was still physically normal. "I know it's only visible to me," Ciel murmured behind his hand, "but I'd rather not see it."

"Well, that could pose a problem," reasoned Sebastian. "How will you groom yourself, if you're too afraid to look in the mirror? We can't have people referring to you as 'Lord Dumont the Scruffy', can we?"

Ciel sighed. "Then you can continue all grooming duties for me that would otherwise force me to look into a mirror. I insist on learning to dress and bathe myself, though."

Sebastian bowed his head in agreement. "Of course. For now, though, allow me to assist you. Bathing alone with a head injury may not be a wise idea, demon skull or not. You already have a penchant for drowning, my lord."

Ciel almost refused, but then he remembered that Sebastian could and often _did_ refuse direct orders that went against his vows to protect him. He sighed and looked down at his pale, bare legs.

"Fine. Just don't look."

The demand seemed to confuse the butler. "Don't look? Young master, I've already explained to you that the demonic presence you sometimes see in your reflections aren't visible to myself or anyone else. Even if it were, it isn't anything I haven't seen before."

"That isn't why," admitted the teen, flushing. "I'm just not comfortable being nude around you, anymore."

"Oh. I see. I suppose my telling you there's nothing there I haven't seen before either won't help."

Ciel shook his head. "My body is...changing. I'm trying to get used to it myself. I just feel too...exposed...with you fully dressed and myself naked. Don't you dare make a joke about getting undressed with me, Sebastian."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Sebastian smiled gently. "I can literally do this with my eyes closed, young master, but you may blindfold me, if it makes you feel more secure."

Ciel's gaze immediately went to the belt on the bathrobe that Sebastian had draped over the mirror to hide it. "This is ridiculous," he sighed. His voice squeaked and he flushed again, humiliated.

"It isn't ridiculous if it makes you more comfortable," insisted Sebastian.

Ciel chewed his lower lip for a moment, before nodding. "Then fetch the belt from that robe, there. Let's get this over with."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

Just as he said, Sebastian was able to finish undressing him and help him into the tub without needing his eyesight to do so. Though he was blindfolded, he politely turned his back and waited quietly on the stool, while Ciel bathed himself with awkward haste. He even washed Ciel's back for him without removing the blindfold, when the young man requested help with that. When he was finished, Ciel pulled the plug and announced that he was finished. Sebastian retrieved a towel without even needing to feel around, and he held it open for him as Ciel stepped out of the tub. He retrieved a second, smaller towel and he began to dry the teen's hair with it. To Ciel's surprise, the bump was already gone and it didn't hurt when Sebastian scrubbed the spot with the towel. The butler left him with the towel on his head, allowing him to finish up while he fetched his folded nightshirt.

"Your pajamas, young master," said the butler when Ciel pulled the towel away from his hair. "Would you like me to assist you, or would you rather I allow you to do it on your own?"

Ciel looked at the long, puffy-sleeved nightshirt in the servant's arms, and he hesitated. Maybe one last time would be okay. "You do it...please."

Sebastian smiled softly. "As you wish. Have you raised your arms over your head?"

Ciel dropped the towel and did so. "Ready."

Sebastian opened the nightshirt and he let Ciel slip his arms into it, before tugging it down over his head and draping it over his body. The butler smoothed the sleeves and nodded in satisfaction. "There now, you're ready for your evening tea. If you'd like to relax in the bedroom, I'll just clean up in here and get it ready for you."

"That would be good, Sebastian."

The butler bent over to collect Ciel's discarded towel, and without the ability to see, he wasn't aware of how close the boy was to him. Ciel didn't expect it and he blurted a complaint when Sebastian's dark head clunked against his, making him stagger.

"A thousand pardons, sir." Sebastian reached out blindly to steady him, and the teenager squeaked when his hand nearly grabbed something other than his hand.

"It's fine," Ciel said as he dodged away, his voice pitching oddly in his tension. "Take that damned blindfold off, before you hurt one of us or molest me."

Smirking with amusement, Sebastian complied. "I shall strive to make it up to you with a heavenly breakfast in the morning, my lord."

Avoiding his gaze and still blushing madly, the young man nodded and left the bathroom.

* * *

_In London:_

He sensed her pain and suffering from blocks away, all the way inside his shop. He felt her death approaching, and he knew it wasn't going to come fast enough. There were changes in the air, and he was interested to see what they might bring. The crisp fall air stirred his robes as he stepped outside of his shop, and he breathed in the scent of the city, it's sins and the subtle undertone of death. There was always death in London, in one corner or another. One in particular was pulling at him, though…one that wasn't officially destined to die. He locked up his shop and he followed the trail.

His booted footsteps were eerily silent as he strode down the cobbled streets of London. The few people still out and about at this hour moved aside when they passed him, watching him warily. He stood out, after all. His silver hair fell all the way to his waist, thick and lustrous. He wore a chain around his waist as a belt, and attached to that chain were several memorial lockets, commonly used to keep the hair, ashes or burial soil of the deceased in remembrance. The sleeves of his dark robes were extra long, appearing oversized on him and covering his hands from view. He wore a top hat on his head that had an extra long ribbon hanging from it, to mingle with the fall of silver hair draping his back. He smiled brightly at people in passing, his eyes concealed beneath a long fringe of bangs. None of them smiled back.

He followed the scent of approaching death for three blocks, until he found the source. There was an overturned carriage in the street, the wheels still spinning uselessly. There was a smear of blood and tissue in the street leading up to it, suggesting that the horses had dragged it for an entire block before finally coming to a stop. A small crowed had gathered around the broken carriage, and they spoke amongst themselves as they surrounded it.

Undertaker pushed through the small circle of curious onlookers and approached the wreckage, stepping over broken glass and bits of skin and hair. He paused when he saw a detached arm lying a couple of feet away from the carriage, the fingers twitching spasmodically. It looked to belong to a man, and when he got close enough to see the driver, he deduced the missing arm was his. Judging by the tearing of tissue, the arm came off while the carriage was dragged through the streets. The crash wasn't the cause of death for the driver, however.

"Well, what have we here?" Undertaker pulled his right sleeve back to reveal the small lantern he carried, and he lifted it and squatted by the deceased driver to examine the gaping wounds on his body. "Looks like someone gave you a carving," he muttered.

"Excuse me, but you shouldn't touch the body," someone behind him said.

Undertaker turned to regard the speaker, and he grinned at him. "Shouldn't I? He'll end up on my table anyway, most likely. I'm the local funeral director, mind you."

The man lapsed into silence, saying no more. Returning his attention to the victim, Undertaker measured the gashes with his eyes and he parted the sliced material of the driver's vest to take stock of the depth and width of the cuts. It looked as though an extremely sharp blade was responsible. He could sense a familiar, lingering aura on the body.

"Did any of you happen to see what happened?" he asked allowed in absent tones, running a long-nailed finger over one of the bleeding cuts. It was clean, and clear to the bone. In fact, it had sliced through his ribcage.

"I saw the driver writhing and bleeding as the carriage passed me," answered a woman, "and then the horses started to panic and the carriage overbalanced."

"The Yard should be here shortly," another man said.

Undertaker shrugged. The Yard couldn't do anything with the evidence they'd find here, as they weren't equipped to deal with the truth. A death scythe caused the man's injuries, not a common mortal weapon. He'd been attacked by a reaper, and likely a cloaked one, going by the woman's recount of what she'd seen. To onlookers, it must have looked like the man was having some sort of fit, when in reality he was being sliced and diced by an overzealous Shinigami.

Undertaker took his attention off the dead driver, far more interested in what was inside the carriage. The frightened, pained whimper from inside confirmed that the girl he'd sensed hadn't yet passed on. He climbed onto the upturned side of the carriage and he pried the door open to look in. Lying broken and bleeding amidst torn seat cushions and shards of glass was a young woman in a blue dress. Bones protruded through the stained material of her white hose. Her dress and petticoats were torn and bloodied, riddled with shards of glass. At first, Will thought her hair was red, but then he realized it was soaked with blood. The true blonde color could be seen where the blood hadn't yet saturated it. The young woman looked to be no older than fourteen, and she was trying to push her damaged bonnet aside to see around her.

He knew her name. "Bethany Pembrook," he murmured, his precognitive abilities providing him with her basic information. She'd been on her way home, after visiting her grandmother in the country for a week. Help wouldn't come soon enough to save her, and if the Reaper organization had people on dispatch to collect her, they wouldn't arrive to end her in a timely manner. Such a delicate rabbit shouldn't be left to suffer.

Undertaker climbed in with the dying girl then, and he knelt carefully beside her. It was tight because of the position of the carriage, but he managed to fit in with her. He set his hat aside before he gently eased the girl's bonnet off of her head, and he put his arms around her. She whimpered and he spoke in a low, gentle murmur.

"Shhh, I know it hurts," he said, "but it will be over soon, my dear. I'm here to take you home."

The girl opened pale blue eyes to look up at him in confusion. Undertaker cradled her deftly, supporting her against his chest with one arm, while reaching up to brush his bangs aside with his free hand, revealing his face and eyes to her.

"Look into my eyes, little one," murmured Undertaker. "Don't be afraid."

She did so, compelled by his hypnotic voice and gentle tone. "Are…are you an…angel?"

Undertaker considered the question, and he smiled. "Yes, my dear. I've come to take you home to your family. They're waiting for you in Heaven." It was a fib of convenience, but he and his kind were somewhat akin to angels, after all.

She gave a trembling smile, and she coughed up some blood. Tears spilled from her eyes to mingle with the blood in her hair. "Will it…hurt?"

"You won't feel a thing," promised Undertaker. "Just gaze into my eyes, child. It will be over with before you know it, and then you can rest."

The girl stared at him, and Undertaker caressed her bruised and bloodied face gently, before gripping her jaw. There was a snap, and she went limp in his arms as her neck broke. She died with a smile on her face, convinced that her last vision was that of an angel. Undertaker brushed his fingers over her eyes to shut them, and then he manifested his forbidden death scythe…the very same one he'd used on famous legends, back in his youth. It was a little awkward in the cramped space, but he made due and he pressed the long, crescent blade against the girl's broken neck. Using just the tip, he made a small cut, and he collected the cinematic records that came rushing out as a result.

As he'd promised, she felt no pain. Her transition into death was much kinder on her than it would have been, if he'd left her to slowly bleed to death of her internal injuries.

"What's going on in there?" someone called. "Is it a survivor?"

Undertaker spoke without pausing his work. "I'm afraid not. She just passed, poor thing."

He heard whistles blowing and he knew the authorities were on their way. Shutting out the noise, Undertaker finished drawing out her cinematic records, and he put away his scythe. He considered collecting the driver's records too, but he wasn't on the list. The only reason the girl made it into his premonition was because she didn't die immediately. He'd leave it up to the organization to decide whether to reap the driver or not. They'd have to do it under a cloak anyway, with all these people standing around. Undertaker smirked at the thought of the crowd's reaction if someone were to reap the driver in front of them.

He put his hat back on before he climbed back out of the carriage, and he hopped back down onto the street. He was used to the wary stares he got from people, and he chuckled as the man who had inquired to him earlier took a step back as he approached.

"You tell the Yard to bring them to the Undertaker's shop when they finish, if they need forensic work done. I'll be heading back, now."

The man nodded convulsively, his eyes lingering on the scar twisting over the Shinigami's sculpted, half-hidden features. "Yes sir."

Satisfied that nobody would try to stop or question him, Undertaker took his leave. Men from the Yard galloped by on horseback as he walked back to his shop, and he stayed on the footpath to avoid getting run over by them in their haste. He made it back to his shop a few minutes later, and he locked the door behind him as he entered. He went to his desk and sat down, picking up the handset to his phone immediately. He waved a pale hand over it, and the numbers changed to reveal numeric characters unknown to the human world. He used his pointy-fingernail to dial the sequence he needed, and he relaxed in his chair as he waited for an answer.

"It's me," he said when the other party finally picked up on the other line. "I've got something for the record library, and I think you should know one of your dogs slipped its leash."

* * *

William was sure the second time that he and Grell got called into Clayworth's office that something else had come up with Ciel Phantomhive's death report, and he cursed the day he ever met the boy. He cursed Grell, too, because if it weren't for the bothersome redhead, he never would have gotten involved. It came as a surprise and somewhat of a relief to him to discover that the head administrator called them in for a different reason, entirely.

"We have a rogue Shinigami to deal with," announced Mr. Clayworth.

William's gaze immediately slid to the redhead standing beside him, and Grell put a hand over his chest with an air of innocence.

"Don't look at _me_, Will! I've been following the rules to the letter."

The brunet huffed, unable to refute that. As Grell's supervisor, he knew he hadn't broken any rules—lately. It was just natural for him to make assumptions, given how unpredictable Sutcliff could be. Turning his attention back to their superior, William adjusted his glasses.

"What has this rogue done so far, sir?"

"Last night, he attacked a carriage driver that wasn't on the death list. The resulting crash killed the occupant of the carriage as well; a young lady by the name of Bethany Pembrook. She wasn't scheduled to die either, and dispatch failed to send reapers in time to collect her records. An old associate took care of that matter for us."

William and Grell looked at each other, both having a good idea of whom their superior spoke of. "When you say 'took care of the matter'," hedged the former politely, "do you mean he—"

"Collected the cinematic records and sent them to us," confirmed Clayworth with a nod. "In other words, Undertaker took up this department's slack. I want to see us do better, gentlemen. I'm assigning the two of you to investigate this matter. You may each choose an underling to assist you. I want this reaper found and brought in, so that we may render judgment and decide what disciplinary actions to take."

"I already know who I'll bring in," Grell muttered. "What about you, William?"

The brunet shrugged. He wasn't as attached to his underlings as Grell seemed to be. "One is as good as the other."

"You ought to be more selective," suggested the redhead, batting his eyelashes at him. "How will you ever groom a trainee to greatness, if you won't take the time to instruct them?"

"I instruct them plenty," snapped William. "But I'm not their friend. It's better they not suffer any illusions about that."

"You'd make a horrible parent," observed Grell. "Maybe I shouldn't be so eager to have your babies."

William's eyes popped wide at that, and he glanced at their superior with a flush. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from such nonsense...particularly in front of the administrator."

"If you're both quite finished," interjected Clayworth before Grell could respond, "I've just given you an assignment. I don't care what sort of balderdash you discuss amongst yourselves while you're doing it, just get started on the task I've assigned to you and leave my office."

William bowed. "Yes sir. We'll do our very best to bring in this criminal for your judgment."

"Good. After Mr. Sutcliff's escapades, we can't afford to be lenient."

Grell smiled sheepishly when they both gave him a stern glare, and he spread his hands. "I'm reformed, I tell you!"

"Hmph...we'll see," muttered Clayworth.

* * *

Ciel parried the attack, and he hopped away nimbly. His strength was growing day by day, and he was lighter on his feet than ever before. He dared believe he could eventually be a match for his butler at this rate—at least with a foil.

"Very good, young master." Sebastian smiled at him encouragingly. "You've finally learned to counter that move."

"Allow me to reciprocate," grunted the young man with a deft stab at Sebastian's midsection.

Predictably, the butler avoided the attack with ease, but it was the closest Ciel had ever come to scoring a hit on him. Sebastian's back arched gracefully, and he side-stepped and came at the teen again. Ciel blocked the blade with his own, and the metal rang out as it clashed. He felt the vibrations up his arm as the delicate blade wobbled, and he withdrew and stepped away. He kept his body turned to the side to present the smallest possible target, and he held his butler's eyes as he tried to predict what his next move would be.

He wasn't expecting Sebastian to leap up and somersault over his head, to land behind him.

Ciel blurted a curse and twirled around, but he wasn't fast enough. He felt the punishing poke of the foil tickling his ribcage, and he dropped his own with a sigh and held his hands out. "I'm defeated," he announced. He turned his head to look back at the taller demon. "But that was cheating."

Smiling craftily, Sebastian gently rested his foil on Ciel's shoulder. "It's not cheating, to use the full extent of one's abilities to gain the upper hand. You continue to see things through human eyes, my lord. You must learn to think more like a demon, for your own good. Your opponents—the ones that can actually pose a threat to you now—aren't going to play by mortal rules, and neither should you."

"And what if I'm fighting against a human?" demanded Ciel.

Sebastian shrugged. "Dispatch them as quickly as possible. Kill them, if you must. Don't handicap yourself on their account, unless it's necessary in order to maintain the illusion of mortality."

Sebastian lowered the foil, and he stepped closer to Ciel. He slid his hand under the young man's chin, urging him to tilt his head back and gaze into his eyes. Ciel blushed as the butler's face loomed only inches away from his, to the point where his breath caressed his lips.

"Demon or not, you can still be harmed. How quickly you recover from injury depends on how regularly you consume souls, young master. If you choose to stop altogether once you reach maturity, a serious would could have you bedridden for days." The gloved fingers caressed Ciel's face lightly, and a smile curved Sebastian's lips again. "Let's do our best to ensure that never happens, by honing your skills to their finest, shall we?"

Ciel found it difficult to breathe, suddenly. He stared at Sebastian's mouth and he started to entertain thoughts that made him blush. Swallowing, he nodded. "Fair enough."

He retrieved his sword from the grass, and he saluted his butler with it as he tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding. "Another round?"

"That was our fourth," pointed out Sebastian, his crimson gaze sweeping over the sweating young man. "Aren't you beginning to tire?"

"I'll tell you when I've had enough," insisted Ciel. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve to prevent the sweat from getting into his eyes. It was so tempting to unfasten his jacket and unbutton his shirt to cool off, but it wouldn't be proper. "Let's have another."

"You are determined to win a match," guessed Sebastian with a smirk. "So competitive, my young lord."

Ciel smirked. "Would I be me, otherwise?" He stared challengingly at the butler from behind the raised blade of his foil, his blue eyes steady despite the awkward stirrings he felt.

"Indeed, you would not." Sebastian returned his salute, and they began again. This time, Ciel put more passion into his strikes, dancing around his opponent with a sort of nimble grace he'd lacked as a human.

"Perhaps young master should reconsider his dancing reluctance," suggested Sebastian as their blades crossed. "Your limbs move fluidly now, in conjunction with one another. Ballroom dancing should be a trifle for you, these days."

"Stop trying to distract me," warned Ciel. When Sebastian smiled, he knew his hunch was right. "You really don't like to play fair, do you?"

"Since when have either of us ever played 'fair', sir?" Sebastian side-stepped Ciel's lunge, and he counter-attacked. As the teen blocked it, he gave him another reminder. "What was that you once said? 'There are two sorts of people in the world; those who steal and those who are stolen from'. You've never been an advocate for fairness, my lord."

"True," agreed Ciel. He circled his opponent, keeping a sharp eye out for an opening. "Thank you for reminding me of that, Sebastian. Woof."

The butler frowned in confusion, and Ciel immediately took advantage of the distraction to press the attack. Sebastian grunted as the covered tip of his master's foil poked him in the belly. He sighed and gave Ciel an impressed little smile.

"Well played, young master."

Ciel shrugged, satisfied now that he'd won a match. He replaced his foil in its sheath. "The bark of a watch dog is all it takes, to distract a cat."

Sebastian chuckled, sheathing his weapon as well. "Very well. If you'll pardon me for saying so, this particular 'watch dog' could use a bath, and so could his servant, for that matter."

Ciel looked away, glad that he was already flushed with exertion. "You've barely broken a sweat."

"But I'm still mussed," insisted Sebastian, "and a good butler always looks his best, for his lord."

Ciel very nearly told him that he managed to do that quite fine, even when bloody and filthy. He bit his tongue and looked up toward the house on the hill. "A bath then, and tea afterwards."

Sebastian bowed. "Of course, my lord."

* * *

He grumbled petulantly in his coffin when he heard the ringing of his shop bell. It was far too early to be waking up, and Undertaker covered his mouth with a long-nailed hand to muffle his yawn. Maybe they would go away.

The bell continued to ring, and he heard voices coming from outside, on the other side of his shop door. "We should come back later," a vaguely familiar, male voice suggested.

"Do you want to get started on this investigation or not?" challenged another voice. This one was higher pitched and more expressive than the first. "He was the one that arrived on the scene, Will! Stop being so craven!"

Undertaker smirked, even as he sighed. Bothersome little younglings. Though still sleepy, he understood what they were there for, and he reached up to push aside the lid of his coffin. He climbed out of it and he approached the door, his long, dark garments brushing against his booted ankles as he walked. He unlocked and opened the door to find Grell Sutcliff standing there with one fist raised, poised in mid-knock. The long-lashed eyes blinked behind the red spectacles, before Grell smiled.

"Good morning, Undertaker," William said before Grell could get a single word out of his shark-toothed mouth. He offered his hand, and when the funeral director didn't take it, he hastily withdrew it and put it in his trouser pocket. Looking vaguely embarrassed, the austere brunet cleared his throat before speaking again.

"Sir, I've no doubt you've spoken with our administrator concerning the matter of the recent unsanctioned reaping you witnessed?"

"I witnessed nothing of the sort," Undertaker corrected with a shrug. "I did, however, examine the driver's body and hear the account of human witnesses. Would you like to have a look at him, yourself?"

Grell and William looked at one another, and the redhead shrugged. Behind them were two other reapers—young ones, but old enough to have earned their custom glasses. Grell turned to them and instructed them to wait there, while he and William stepped into the shop. Undertaker moved aside for them, and then he shut and locked the door.

"This way, Gentlemen," he invited, his overly long sleeves flopping with his gestures. "Both bodies are in the basement. I intend to pretty them up this morning and send them on their way to be buried."

"Wait," pleaded William in confusion, "'they'? The second body you're referring to must be the young lady who died in the crash, correct?"

Undertaker nodded, not slowing his steps as he walked toward the curtain blocking off the back room. The stairs leading down to the cellar were behind there. "Yes. Pretty little thing. It's a shame she'll have to be consigned to the ground to rot, but there's nothing for it."

He heard the younger Shinigami moving again behind him, and he pulled the curtain aside. They followed him into the basement and William sniffed the air curiously.

"That scent," murmured the brunet. "What is that?"

"Incense," answered Undertaker. "It burns impurities in the air and masks the smell of decay and embalming chemicals. Do you like it? It's Frankincense."

William looked like he was trying not to sneeze, but he politely nodded. Grell wrinkled his nose. "It smells like feet." His companion nudged him with his elbow, none too gently. "Oof! William! No flirting, you shameless man!"

Undertaker chuckled with amusement, entertained as always by Grell. "It leads me to wonder what sort of feet you tend to sniff, Mr. Sutcliff. At any rate, here are the corpses. Feel free to examine them yourselves. I've cleaned the wounds, but they haven't yet been sutured and you'll find that the lingering traces of a death scythe's mark aren't so easily washed away."

William nodded, approaching the coachman's body to gaze down upon it. "That was how I tracked down Sutcliff, when he took it into his head to break our laws."

Grell sidled closer to him, grinning. "You came to rescue me from myself, just like a knight in—"

"Would you _please_ stop that?" William snapped, flushing. "We're here to do a job, Sutcliff!"

Undertaker leaned back against the wall, grinning brightly at the two of them. He dug out a bone-shaped cookie from a pouch inside his robes and he munched on it as he watched the younger Shinigami with interest.

"Stop what, Will? You could have let Sebby kill me."

"Maybe I _should_ have," muttered the brunet, leaning over the driver's corpse to have a closer look at the cuts on his naked, discolored torso.

"But you didn't." Grell blew into his ear, and the little shiver that passed through William's body wasn't lost on Undertaker. The older Reaper paused in his chewing when Grell's hand settled on William's back and slid down to the small of it, stopping just at the curve of his spine over his ass.

"Pay attention to what we're trying to do here," ordered William in a tight voice. "And mind our location!"

Grell sighed. "Mm-hmm. Well then, let's see." He took his hand off of William's back and he adjusted his red glasses to have a closer look. "Hmph...the old man is right. I can see traces of silver reaping essence in here."

William looked as well. "Yes. This isn't a false alarm." He turned away from the corpse and he looked at Undertaker with a respectful nod. "Sir, thank you for your cooperation. Can you give us any information at all as to where you believe the suspect might have gone, once he finished off this man?"

Undertaker laughed.

William looked at his companion in confusion, and Grell shrugged ignorantly. The brunet looked back at the silver-haired funeral director, his face going through an interesting shift of expressions as he considered his words before speaking.

"I'm really not sure what I said to amuse you, but if you don't mind, my companion and I are on a schedule, sir. Did you see, hear or sense anything at the scene of the incident that might lead us to some sort of trail?"

Undertaker swallowed what was left of his cookie, and he shook his head. "You really didn't listen to me at all before, did you?"

William paled a little as the older Shinigami approached him and Grell, standing taller than both of them. The shadow of his top-hat fell over the dispatch administrator's face as Undertaker loomed over him, stopping less than a foot away from him.

"I apologize," William said, watching the Undertaker with wary admiration. "What did I miss?"

"You missed me telling you that I didn't see the act happen," answered the retired death god, "nor did I see the one guilty of doing it. No-one did, Mr. Spears. If I had seen anything that would lead to a trail, don't you think I would have told you by now?"

Grell stepped between them boldly, shielding his companion from Undertaker's intense presence. "William is just covering all avenues," he said, his green-gold eyes flashing beneath wild, crimson bangs. "And I'll remind you that _you_ swore to our superiors that you would cooperate."

"Hmph." Undertaker grinned at him, finding the redhead's nerve more interesting than annoying. "I swore to _one_ of your superiors, as a favor. I'm afraid I've told you all I can, though. You boys are on your own, until I hear something else I can share with you."

William nudged Grell aside, looking faintly embarrassed by his attempt to protect him. "Good enough, Undertaker. We'll get out of your way now, and commence with the investigation. Thank you for your graciousness."

"My pleasure." Undertaker nodded at him, but hidden beneath the fringe of his pale bangs, his eyes stayed on Sutcliff. "Help yourselves to a treat on your way out. Good luck."

* * *

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 6: The Rogue

Author's note: I apologize for the lack of Ciel/Sebastian interactions in this chapter, but this one focuses mostly on the Shinigami part of the plot. I promise, the next chapter will be almost exclusively Sebby/Ciel.

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. Limerick by Edward Lear.

* * *

"And just what was that all about?"

Grell looked at his companion with unfeigned surprise. "What?"

"You know what," muttered William, casting a glance back at Ronald and the other underling following them down the street. "You interposed yourself between the Undertaker and I."

Grell scowled. "He was looming. Nobody threatens my man."

Ronald must have heard that part, because he snorted behind his hand. William shot a warning look at the blond, before glaring at Grell. "How many times do I have to tell you, I am _not_ your man. We're work associates, and nothing more."

"Oh, come on," Ronald muttered.

William stopped and turned to look at him, tapping his scythe lightly against his open palm. "Is there something you'd like to share, Mr. Knox?"

Ronald looked at the young man next to him, who seemed to want nothing to do with the argument. He shrugged and he combed his fingers through his feathered, two-tone hair. Blond at the top and black at the bottom, it was an interesting contrast. "You two have known and worked with each other for how long now? Nearly one-hundred years?"

William looked at Grell and nodded grudgingly. "And?"

"You could have let Sempai die so many times by now, but you always go to his rescue. He always comes to yours, too. You're more to each other than work associates, sir."

Grell waggled his eyebrows at William when he scoffed. "I knew there was a reason I chose him as my understudy," said the redhead. "The boy has a point, you know."

"Enough of this," insisted William. He retrieved a letter from his blazer. "Andre, you and Ronald are to visit the Yard and deliver this letter. They should cooperate with you and answer your questions, once they read it. I trust you know what needs to be asked?"

Andre nodded. "Yes sir. I have my list right here." He patted his vest pocket.

"Good. Try to be quick about it, but don't miss any of the details. Sutcliff and I will be investigating the scene of the incident, to see if we can find a trail. Meet up with us at the hotel, when you've finished."

Andre and Ronald separated from them to do as they were bidden, leaving William and Grell alone. They lapsed into silence as they walked the streets, and the distant bell toll of the clock tower in the distance announced the turn of the hour. William absently checked his pocket watch with a frown. "I was hoping to get this done before noon."

Grell's brows lifted. "We aren't likely to catch this rogue in one day, William, let alone by lunchtime."

"No, but it would be nice to have a trail by then." William shook Grell off of him when the redhead tried to cling to his arm. "Stop that."

Grell pouted, but he complied. "You'll have to stop lying to yourself eventually, William. We have ages ahead of us for me to get through to you."

"Not if you get yourself killed," mumbled William.

Shinigami were extremely long-lived, but suicidal and reckless tendencies were a hallmark amongst them. Grell in particular took risks that brought him to the edge of death, on a regular basis. William frowned at the thought of the flamboyant redhead lying cold and still, all that vibrant life drained from him.

"Let's just focus on the task we've been assigned to," insisted William out loud, avoiding looking at his companion.

* * *

The investigation went on for months, with only a few leads. Several more people were killed, and the Yard was utterly baffled. The Shinigami, however, knew that the human authorities stood little to no chance of capturing and bringing in the suspect. Grell found some long strands of pale blond hair at one of the murder scenes, and when he held it up to the light and inspected it, he could see the traces of spirit energy lingering from a death god's aura. He bagged it and brought it in for evidence. Shortly after that, Undertaker himself sent in tissue samples that he'd scraped out from beneath the nails of another victim. He'd heard one of the witnesses say they saw the man appear to grapple with thin air, and collected a scraping before the Yard arrived to investigate.

William oversaw the investigation as ordered, keeping his complaints to himself as he, Grell and the others worked overtime. The one good thing about it was that all accommodations were paid for by the organization. They eventually picked up a solid enough trail to follow him, with a lot of hard work, patience, and the occasional assistance from Undertaker and the Yard. The rogue began to kill outside of London, moving erratically to smaller settlements, until he doubled-back to London. Where he would go from there was anyone's guess.

* * *

"Young master, it's time to wake up."

The low, resonant greeting dragged Ciel out of dreams best kept to himself, and he stretched fitfully in his bed, deliberately squirming so that the covers bunched up to hide his morning condition. He blinked cerulean-blue eyes and he looked up at the attractive creature standing at his bedside.

"Good morning," greeted Sebastian with a smile. "And happy birthday."

Ciel frowned. He'd completely forgotten what day it was. He noticed the tray Sebastian had brought and he huffed when he saw that there was a single, lit candle crowning the center of the muffin on the plate. A cup of steaming tea accompanied it. Ciel squirmed into a sitting position, mindful to keep the covers bunched up over his lap.

"I told you that I don't want to celebrate birthdays any longer." He allowed Sebastian to place the bed tray on his lap, however, and he didn't object when the butler fluffed his pillows.

"I understand that sixteen is quite a milestone for most humans," excused Sebastian. "It's the age at which many of you are old enough to marry, correct?"

Ciel frowned, lowering his gaze. "Yes. Some people marry as early as sixteen. Lizzy and I were to be wed on my seventeenth birthday, however."

"I apologize for bringing up a sore subject, my lord." Sebastian placed a napkin around Ciel's neck, tucking it into the collar of his nightshirt. "I was under the impression that you had made peace with that."

"I have," answered Ciel with a shrug. "I just don't like to be reminded of all the things I'll never get to do. You're right, though. Dwelling on it won't do me any good. Most of those things I'm going to miss out on were deigned by society to be obligatory. I would have married out of duty, fathered children because that's what men do when they take wives, and probably ended up just like my parents, eventually. If I were still human and living as a Phantomhive, the Crown would come after me. At least this way, Elizabeth will be safe from that threat."

Sebastian nodded. "That's very gracious of you, master. Now, blow out your candle and make a wish."

Ciel raised a brow at him. "You're joking."

Sebastian smiled. "I assure you, I'm not. I know how you despise birthday celebrations, but as I said before: this is a milestone. You're becoming a man, and your body has grown to reflect that. Celebrate it, young master. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"It is," admitted Ciel. "But what do you suggest I wish for, now that we've proven I can achieve physical maturity?"

Sebastian lowered his gaze in a humble gesture. "It isn't for me to tell you that, my lord. Surely there's something you desire, beyond growing up."

Ciel stared at the butler's mouth, and he swallowed. "Maybe. Wishes are stupid, though. It's just a silly, whimsical ritual people do on their birthdays that has no real meaning. Dreams don't come true by blowing out a candle."

"Then there's no harm in doing it," reasoned Sebastian. "Humor me, and yourself. Pretend for a moment that just this once, your wish can come true when you blow out this candle."

One elegant, cobalt eyebrow lifting, Ciel looked suspiciously at the muffin. "Is it going to explode if I do this?"

"Young master made it quite clear that if he wanted a jester, he would have hired one," Sebastian said with a small bow. His ruby gaze lifted and met Ciel's. He gave him one of those devilishly handsome, coaxing smiles. "I only wish for you to enjoy this special day."

Ciel hesitated, unable to take his eyes off Sebastian's. "And it can be whatever I want?"

"Absolutely. It's a wish, after all."

Shoving aside painful memories of another birthday that ended in the loss of his parents and innocence, Ciel sighed. There really was only one thing he wanted, right now.

_~I want these confusing feelings to go away.~_

Or at least get redirected to a healthier direction. The feelings he'd been developing for Sebastian just kept getting stronger, and every time the butler enjoyed a liaison with someone, it hurt just a little more. Ciel knew that Sebastian sometimes organized encounters with Grell Sutcliff—mostly by the redhead's initiation. He also knew he sometimes had sexual relations with the people he fed on. He'd told him he didn't give a damn who he bedded, but that was becoming more and more a lie with each passing day.

"Have you thought of something to wish for?" pressed Sebastian.

Ciel nodded. "I have." He shut his eyes and blew out the candle.

* * *

"Grell, wake up."

The redhead whined in his sleep and turned over, stuffing his pillow over his head. He'd been having such a lovely and unexpected dream. It was normal for him to dream of Sebby and William at the same time, but the third party in his erotic nighttime fantasy ended up being Undertaker.

"Take off that ridiculous hat," mumbled Grell, swatting the air limply.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," answered the voice. "Now, get up. There's another killing happening as we speak at the docks, and if we move fast enough, we may be able to catch our quarry."

Realizing the voice belonged to William, Grell pulled his pillow away and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" he yawned. Will was standing over him, holding the folded clothes Grell had set out for himself to put on in the morning.

"A quarter past midnight," answered William. He looked handsome and immaculate, as always. He nudged his glasses back into place on his nose when they slipped down, and he tossed the clothes to him. "Hurry and get dressed, before we miss our chance. The Undertaker is waiting for us."

Despite having just experienced a very pleasant dream featuring the Undertaker, Grell was annoyed. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"He's the one that informed me of the next impending murder," explained William, turning his back as Grell slipped into his pants. "He had a premonition. It's going to be close, but this could be the advantage we've been waiting for."

"So he was about to predict it, but nobody from our department has?" Grell reached for his shirt and slipped it on.

"Undertaker has always had a talent for premonitions," reminded William. "You know that. If we wait for official word from our people, it could be too late."

Grell moved faster, wanting this investigation over with just as badly as William.

* * *

"Will, look out!"

He had time to see their opponent diving at him from atop the crates, leading with the twin, circular saws of his death scythe flashing in the moonlight. The next thing he knew, his vision was filled with red. Grell had jumped in front of him, and William heard the terrible sound of the buzzing blades cutting through cloth and flesh, before the sound of his companion's gagging reached his ears. Grell fell back against him and William impulsively caught him in his arms.

"_Senpai_!"

Ronald charged at the rogue Shinigami with his scythe, and Andre was right behind him. The latter's axe fit in with the times much better than Ronald's strange lawnmower, but they were equally deadly. They attacked the threat together while William carefully lowered Grell to the street. What few dock workers there were at this hour scattered, wanting nothing to do with the combatants or their strange weapons.

"W-William," choked Grell, looking up at him with a sickly grin. He coughed up blood, and William pressed a hand desperately over the terrible injury in his stomach.

"Don't move," advised William. Grell's cinematic records were trying to escape, and his intestines would likely do the same if they didn't keep the wound closed. He looked up at the Undertaker, who had been watching the confrontation silently, but had now drawn his legendary scythe. Undertaker was watching the fight between the younger two reapers and the criminal.

"Do something!" yelled William, forgetting in his panic whom he was addressing in such a demanding tone.

"Not really my place," said Undertaker absently, running one long, black nail over the glinting blade of his weapon, "but you boys are likely to get sliced to ribbons, if I don't intervene. You'd best call your underlings to stop their playing and get Mr. Sutcliff to SDS headquarters for treatment, Mr. Spears. I'll make sure our little friend doesn't interfere."

"We can't let him get away," William said.

Undertaker grinned sharply at him. "Do you want me to be responsible for capturing the reaper _you_ were sent to collect, Mr. Spears?"

Grell's breath hitched, drawing William's attention back to the more pressing matter at hand. He compressed his lips and he called out for his other companions. "Knox! White! Withdraw and get over here, immediately!"

Ronald hastened to comply, but Andre wasn't quite fast enough. Distracted by their supervisor's shout, he didn't see the whirring, circular blades coming at him. There was a clash of metal as a huge crescent scythe intervened, just before the rotating buzz saws would have cleaved his face in two. The young Shinigami stared with wide, eyes at the weapon; which was crafted in the likeness of a half-skeleton wearing a crown of thorns. The blade of the sickle emerged from the back of the grinning skull, and he saw his own reflection in that perfect blade for a bare second, before Undertaker shoved him away.

"Run along, child," advised the silver-haired Shinigami. The harbor wind blew Undertaker's hat off, and his bangs whipped to the side with the rest of his hair to reveal a glimpse of his eyes, lined with thick, pale lashes. The mad grin on his lips suggested he was looking forward to this encounter.

Andre hesitated for just a moment at the sight of his face, before Ronald grabbed his arm and yanked him along. The two of them sprinted away as the rogue faced off against Undertaker.

"Senpai!" Ronald skidded to a halt before his fallen mentor and William, eyes wide behind his glasses. "The bastard killed him!" He started to turn around and go back, enraged. William's stern shout stopped him.

"He's not dead…not yet! We're taking him to headquarters while the Undertaker keeps the criminal occupied!"

"But what if he gets away?" asked Andre uncertainly. He watched with no small amount of awe as Undertaker leaped high in the air and came down swinging his scythe with deadly intent. His opponent was forced to jump back to avoid suffering the same fate he'd visited upon Grell.

"We'll have to pick up his trail again later," insisted William. "Our superiors will understand. Preserving Sutcliff's life is the bigger priority, right now."

His hand trembled as he summoned the portal that would take them to Shinigami headquarters. Grell—the idiot—was still smiling at him as if overjoyed to hear that William valued his life more than getting a raise for capturing a fugitive. His eyes lost focus and fluttered shut, and William smacked him smartly on the left cheek.

"Don't sleep now, Grell. That's an order." He looked at the other two. "Help me lift him…carefully. Andre, keep pressure on his injury. We'll just have to trust that Undertaker can handle himself until we can send assistance for him."

As quickly and carefully as possible, the three Shinigami lifted their injured comrade and carried him through the portal.

* * *

"I once knew a Shinigami with rotating blades like these," Undertaker said conversationally as he crossed his scythe before him and blocked his opponent's next attack.

It was difficult to make out the face of the other reaper—not only because the high collar of his garment hid his features from the nose down, but because Undertaker had no glasses to correct his vision. He'd learned long ago not to rely on his sense of sight to get things done, though. The long, whipping hair was a pale blond shade. The glasses he wore on his face were round and small—somewhat old fashioned by present standards of Shinigami eyewear. The shape of the eyes suggested European or some other Anglo heritage, but since they were blurred in Undertaker's sight, it was difficult to tell.

There was something hauntingly familiar about him. The way he moved, his scent, and the tone of his voice when the occasional grunt of exertion escaped his lips. He couldn't take time to study these things more closely, however. The killer was fast, and Undertaker could tell by the way he handled himself that he was a product of more extensive training than what they commonly put the young reapers of today through.

"You're no spring chicken," quipped Undertaker with a grin. "Good. I dislike fighting children…but where do I know you from?" He hopped over a low sweep, barely avoiding being clipped by the other reaper's weapon. The circular blades turned in opposite directions, to saw through anything they encountered with deadly speed and precision. The killer followed up with a kick that he wasn't anticipating, and Undertaker clucked his tongue as his scythe was knocked out of his hand. The weapon clattered away and his opponent stood back for a moment, seeming pleased with himself.

"Foolish of you not to attack immediately," admonished the Undertaker.

He unfastened the locket-chain belt around his waist in a flash, and he flicked it with a smooth, whip-like motion. His opponent made a surprised noise as the chain struck him in the face, leaving a welt and temporarily blinding him in the left eye. Undertaker wasted no time. He manifested grave markers as he danced away from the other Shinigami, hurling the sotoba with uncanny accuracy. The wooden markers cracked and split as his opponent struck them with his scythe, barely deflecting them from striking vital parts of his body.

The tactic served its purpose. Undertaker made it to his scythe, and as he bent down to retrieve it, his opponent leaped into the air to close the remaining distance between them. Undertaker ended up on his back, and the wood of the dock creaked as the other reaper came down on him and tried to finish the job someone else had attempted years ago. Undertaker again blocked the saws with the snath of his scythe, and the hot sparks thrown as a result stung as they struck his neck and face. He kicked out at his opponent, shoving him off with both scythe and legs. He struck him in the face with the heel of his scythe before reversing the weapon.

He fully intended to finish the bothersome blond, but the killer rolled away just before the deadly point of the Undertaker's crescent blade would have plunged into his chest. The rogue Shinigami scrambled to his feet and backed away warily, now eyeing the funeral director with more respect. The horn of a ship blew, and they both looked toward the water. One of the ships was leaving port—possibly the one that the killer had intended to board. Still keeping a safe distance between them, the blond Shinigami began to back away to the end of the dock. His hair was nearly as long as Undertaker's, and he had some thin braids woven into it in a similar manner, as well.

"Planning a trip, are we?" guessed Undertaker. "You're a quiet one. I might as well have a conversation with a wall. How dull." Despite his words, he followed the other reaper. Seeing as he was Shinigami and not human, a good leap could carry him over the water to the departing ship, if he timed it right.

The blond glanced at the dark horizon again, then at Undertaker. He turned, and he began to run. Undertaker followed out of sheer instinct and a nagging sense of curiosity. It wasn't _his_ responsibility to stop this fellow and bring him in. He had nothing to gain by sticking his own neck out like this, and he briefly wondered why he'd come to the rescue of the younger reapers. For that matter, he wondered why he kept collaborating with them.

"Boredom," he decided with a grunt, his boots striking the wooden boards of the deck. A fisherman carrying a sack passed by him, and he gave a start and dropped his burden when he saw the funeral director's wicked scythe. It made Undertaker laugh, and he was reminded of why he did just about everything, these days. He simply liked to be entertained.

His amusement with the human's reaction cost him the chance to catch his mystery reaper. The blond took a running leap that carried him an astonishing distance over the choppy water, toward the departing ship. For a moment, it looked as though his jump would fall short of the target, but he caught hold of the railing and avoided falling into the water. Undertaker very briefly considered trying to follow him, but he'd done his part already, and he didn't particularly feel like playing the warden to a prisoner until dispatch could send someone to collect him. Besides, vision was unfortunately important in gauging such a distance, and he was more likely to end up taking a saltwater bath than landing on that ship.

Undertaker stopped and watched as his playmate scrambled over the railing, looking like little more than a blur of black and flaxen to his poor vision. Darkness manifested around the rogue, and Undertaker knew he'd cloaked himself from mortal view. If they were lucky, the passengers and crew on the ship wouldn't find themselves reaped before they reached their destination. With any luck, Sutcliff would survive his injuries and be back on his feet again within days.

The wind picked up again, and the moon hid behind a cloud. Undertaker absently felt on top of his head, realizing something was missing. He looked around with a frown, his pale locks blowing dramatically in the wind.

"Now, where did I put my hat?"

* * *

The healers in dispatch got Grell closed up and medicated, assuring William and the others that he would survive his injuries. Shinigami were exceptionally tough, like demons. They could take injuries that would easily kill a human; but to be cut like that by a death scythe was a different matter. It was perhaps ironic that the very weapons they used to do their jobs were also one of the only things capable of killing them. Ronald and Andre stayed for a while, until William ordered them to return to the mortal plane and find Undertaker.

"We need confirmation that he survived," explained William, "and for that matter, we need to know what happened to the fugitive."

"Maybe the Undertaker killed him," reasoned Knox. "Did you see those moves he was pulling off? I had no idea the old guy could fight like that."

William thought about Undertaker's eternally young face, and he thought it was a bit ironic that people kept calling him "old". He _was_ old, though. He'd been around since the dark ages. "Not even Undertaker is immune from a fatal strike by a death scythe," he reminded. "Go and find out what became of him. Report back immediately. I'll remain here with Sutcliff."

They both nodded. "Yes sir."

They left him alone in the infirmary room with Grell then, and William returned his attention to the unconscious redhead. He looked so _pale_. Not in that porcelain doll way of his that drew the eye, but in an unhealthy, sickly way. His lips were colorless and his eyes were sunken and rimmed with dark shadows. He'd lost a lot of blood in the attack. He'd nearly been cut in half, in fact.

"And all because you took the strike meant for me," whispered William. He impulsively reached out to comb Grell's errant, vivid bangs back from his forehead, and he realized his chest wasn't moving. Coldness settled around his heart, and he put both hands on Grell's shoulders. He shook him, his fear driving away common sense.

"Grell," he said urgently. "Sutcliff!"

He was about to shout for a healer, when the redhead gasped and opened his eyes to look around. His pupils were huge, taking up all the green of his primary irises. He resembled a startled cat, with only a thin band of yellow surrounding those wide pupils.

"Wh-what?" His voice was hoarse and disoriented. He blinked slowly at William, and he smiled sluggishly. "Will."

William sighed and swallowed, berating himself for panicking. For a moment, he'd completely forgotten that breathing wasn't a requirement for their kind. "Breathe when you sleep, Grell."

"Don't like breathing," yawned the redhead petulantly.

"Well, do it anyway," snapped William, "so that I don't have to continuously check your pulse to be certain you are alive. You'll put grey in my hair before I reach five-hundred, at this rate."

Grell smirked sloppily, reaching clumsily for the brunet's hand. When he gave it to him, he dragged it to his face and sighed, pressing it against his clammy cheek. "My cold knight…worries for me."

His first impulse was to pull his hand away and sputter a denial, but William couldn't bring himself to do it, under these circumstances. Sometimes, even people like Grell responded better to kindness. He cast a covert look around to be sure nobody was standing in the hallway, before he admitted the truth to Grell. "Yes he does, and he wants you to recover and return to his side. To do that, however, you need to follow instructions and cooperate with the healers. Will you do that, Grell?"

The dazed eyes closed, and the long, blood-red lashes fluttered. "Mm-hmm."

William hesitantly reached out to cress the pallid cheek with the fingertips of his free hand. "Good. Rest now, Grell. We'll find the one that did this to you and I swear, he'll pay for it."

* * *

William dozed off some time after the sun rose, and he was roused from his sleep around noon, when Ronald returned. He gave a start as the younger reaper gently shook his shoulder to wake him, and he straightened up in his chair. He briefly removed his glasses to wipe them off and rub his tired, burning eyes, and then he replaced them and looked up at Ronald.

"Well?"

"Undertaker fought him off, and he made it onto a ship called _'The Fontaine' _before he could stop him." Ronald's gaze flicked briefly to his mentor, before he handed William a sealed letter. "I was instructed to deliver this to you, Mr. Spears."

William took the letter and he frowned at the wax seal—which was in the shape of a skull. "What is it?"

Ronald shrugged. "I don't know. Undertaker told me not to open it, and I'm not stupid enough to defy him. He said it's for your eyes only."

William resisted a grimace. At least he knew Undertaker survived the encounter, but he really hadn't doubted he would, in the first place. He broke the seal and opened the envelope. He retrieved the folded parchment inside and he opened it up to read the flowing, spidery script.

_"Mr. Spears, _

I'm fairly sure I know the identity of your mystery rogue, but you'll need to do some research yourself, to confirm it. Have your people search the records for a Shinigami that went missing sometime in late October of 1706, by the name of Dedrich Fischer. If I'm not mistaken, he's an old associate of mine. I trust you can take care of the rest yourself. You know, of course, that I expect some recompense for this information. I'll wait patiently for when you can fit it into your schedule.

You're welcome.

_-Undertaker"_

The moment he finished reading the letter, it burst into flames. William swore and dropped it impulsively. He frantically patted his lap to prevent singing as the parchment rapidly dissolved into ash.

"The old man really likes to be flashy," observed Ronald. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Fine," muttered William, getting up to straighten his uniform. He cast a glance at Grell, reminding himself that he was out of immediate danger. "Come on, we have a lot of research to do. Where is Andre?"

"He went home to get some rest," answered Ronald. His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion. "And uh…I was hoping I could do the same."

William sighed. Of course, even reapers needed sleep. "Go on, then. I'll report to Mr. Clayworth and get things started. Tomorrow, I expect to see the both of you bright and early in my office. We need to find out where that ship was bound, and I need to make travel preparations to follow our quarry's trail. We can't afford to let him get too far ahead of us. You and Andre conduct research here, while I get back on our quarry's trail. I will, of course, request assistance when and if I locate his whereabouts, again."

Ronald nodded at Grell. "What about Sempai?"

"I'm sure Grell will join us again, as soon as he recovers his strength. We have to trust the organization to take care of him and nurse him back to health."

Ronald nodded in agreement. "I want to get this bastard, for what he did."

For once, William was too weary to maintain a cold, passionless demeanor. His eyes flashed behind his glasses, and he glanced down at Grell's still, sleeping form. "So do I, Knox. So do I."

* * *

Undertaker smiled when William T. Spears strode into his shop, three days later. The young administrator looked even more stiff and somber than usual, and Undertaker's smile faded a bit at the possibility that Sutcliff hadn't survived his injuries, after all. He could predict human deaths, but not Shinigami ones.

"How are things, Mr. Spears?" pressed Undertaker. "Is your droll friend going to recover, or not?"

William stopped before him and, and he nodded. "Yes. Grell survived and he's recovering a bit more with each day. Our healers predict he should be back to full strength in a month."

"Ah, good," said Undertaker sincerely. "It would have been a shame, if he had passed. He's a very interesting fellow."

"Yes sir, you've made that observation before." William frowned, his gaze going to Undertaker's bare, silver head. "Forgive me, but I notice you aren't wearing your hat today, sir."

Undertaker sighed mournfully. "No. My poor hat is probably lying at the bottom of the ocean, by now. It blew off my head while I was fighting that ruffian. Just when I was getting used to that one, too."

"I'm sorry. I would gladly pay for another to be tailored for you."

Undertaker shook his head and made a negligent gesture. "I've already got one on order, so pay it no mind."

"As you wish." William reached into his blazer to procure a small, leather-bound book. He offered it to the Undertaker. "This is for you. I'm prepared to offer whatever other payment you may require, but consider this a personal gift."

Undertaker took the object curiously, squinting to read the silver embossment on the cover. "Hmm, what have we here?" He walked over to his desk and he made a gesture at the half-melted candles crammed on top of human skulls. They lit up, and he opened a drawer to procure a pair of cheap, wire-framed glasses. They were manufactured by humans, for humans. As such, the prescription wasn't designed for Shinigami eyes, and the glasses were only good enough for minor things.

William blinked as the Undertaker put the glasses on and brushed his bangs aside. "I thought you stopped wearing glasses."

"I gave up my Shinigami glasses," explained the older Shinigami. "But regular glasses are still useful for small tasks like reading."

"But wouldn't it be easier to get around, if you used your glasses regularly?" William asked, "even if they aren't as potent as Shinigami manufactured ones?"

"Hmph…you rely too heavily on your eyes, boy. Now, let's see: _'The book of nonsense'_, by Edward Lear. Sounds interesting." He opened the cover and licked his fingertips before turning the pages.

"It's a book of limericks," explained William. "I thought you might appreciate this better than my sad attempts at humor, sir."

Undertaker read aloud from the book.

"There was an Old Man who supposed,  
That the street door was partially closed;  
But some very large rats,

_Ate his coats and his hats,  
While that futile old gentleman dozed." _

He considered the poem for a moment, and he began to grin. The grin became a smile, and a chuckle escaped. He began to laugh softly, finding it more humorous by the second, and he nodded in approval as he closed the book. He looked up at his guest, tickled by the young man's effort to humor him, and the way he humbly admitted that he couldn't do so without the help of a book.

"This is sufficient, for now," he informed him. He put the book down and he removed his glasses, replacing them in his drawer. He offered a hand to William, and the younger reaper shook it in a firm grip. "Perhaps when Mr. Sutcliff recovers and you've brought in your fugitive, the two of you can visit me again and I can entertain _you_."

William got flustered at the offer—which amused Undertaker even further. "I…I would be honored, Undertaker. Again, thank you for your assistance. Grell might not be alive now, if it weren't for you."

"Just try not to get yourselves sliced to ribbons," advised the funeral director. "As interesting as it might be to piece the two of you back together like Humpty Dumpty, you aren't much use to me as corpses."

William nodded uncertainly, wisely refraining from asking what "use" Undertaker had in mind for him and Grell.

* * *

Grell proved to be more than ready to get back on the trail, but he was impatient. After learning that William had gone off to track the rogue by himself, he was determined to get strong enough to join him.

"Easy, Senpai. Don't push yourself too hard!" Ronald caught Grell as the redhead began to collapse. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Grell pushed him away angrily, and he reached out to steady himself against the wall. The sparring room was too warm. He wanted to open a window and let the crisp winter air in. His stomach bore no traces of his injury, thanks the work of the healers and his own Shinigami regenerative abilities, but the muscles were still weakened. He felt a cramp coming on and he put a hand over his torso, leaning back against the wall to stretch them and prevent them from locking up.

"You should rest," urged Ronald with a concerned frown.

"Don't be a ninny," Grell huffed. "I'm just catching my breath."

"Senpai, I've never seen you this quiet or serious before," the younger Shinigami pointed out. "You can't help Administrator Spears if you hospitalize yourself with too much stress."

Grell gave his understudy a warning look, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose when they slid down too far. "Will is far too stiff and unimaginative to face that rogue again on his own. He needs someone willing to take risks at his side."

"Okay, you're right," agreed Ronald, "but maybe we should send someone else in, until you've completely recovered."

"Sorry, nobody else will do," grunted the redhead. He pushed away from the wall and twisted left and right, trying to loosen up his torso. "I don't trust anyone else to watch over my man for me."

"B-but they haven't cleared you to leave the premises," Ronald pointed out when Grell started toward the door resolutely.

The redhead stopped and turned, casting a sharp grin over his shoulder at him. "Ronald, when have I _ever_ taken 'no' for an answer?"

Ronald sighed. "Dammit."

"I'll be sure to leave a note absolving you of all responsibility," soothed Grell. "Just focus on your part of this investigation and leave the rest to William and I. Take that young lady from Human Resources out for a romantic night at the Opera, tonight. Unwind a bit, or you may end up as uptight as my William."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sempai," mumbled Ron. "I suppose you want Mr. Spears' coordinates?"

"Of course."

With another sigh and a shake of his head, Ronald gave them to him. "I'm never going to get promoted," he predicted unhappily.

"Of course you will," soothed Grell. "You're my protégé, after all."

The expression on Ronald's face suggested his words didn't inspire much confidence.

* * *

William looked out at the Belgium skyline from the window of his suite, his thoughts going to the Shinigami that he'd once been partnered with, as an initiate. The colors of the sunset reminded him of Grell's hair, and he sighed. He'd spoken over the phone with Andre yesterday, and the younger reaper had assured him that Grell was recovering nicely and anxious to get back on the case. The biggest challenge would be in keeping Grell under watch until he was fully recovered.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a portal opened behind William to admit the very man he'd been thinking about. He whirled when he sensed it manifesting, readying his ever-present death scythe instinctively. When he saw the familiar mass of crimson hair, the heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and the Cheshire cat smile of Grell Sutcliff, he relaxed.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" demanded William angrily. "You're supposed to be—"

While he was still talking, Grell closed the distance between them in three long strides, and he cupped the back of William's head. His mouth covered his, muffling the rest of his exclamation. Stunned by the abrupt kiss, William dropped his precious death scythe and the only reason it didn't hit the floor was because it was tethered to his wrist. Grell's tongue slipped into his mouth to explore, and the redhead's free arm went around his waist.

The kiss effectively blew William's thoughts away, leaving him a stupefied mess before Grell, when the redhead finally broke the kiss and stared into his eyes.

"You won't get away from me that easily, Will." Grell smiled at him, and he slid his fingers through William's hair, before tugging a handful of it and forcing his head back. He licked Will's arching throat, murmuring husky promises against it. "We're in this together, William, and if it takes another hundred years, I'll convince you we belong with each other."

William swallowed, ridiculously aroused in spite of himself. "And what about your demon?"

Grell's hold on his hair loosened, and his kisses gentled. He pulled back to gaze at him, and he cupped his face. "Admit you're jealous, Will."

"Of a filthy demon?" scoffed the brunet.

"Mm-hmm. Of a filthy demon," Grell agreed. He traced William's lower lip with a gloved fingertip.

William struggled inwardly. He'd never been good at expressing himself—especially after nearly succumbing to the cinematic records of his very first reaping assignment. Feelings made one weak, and vulnerable. However, he couldn't deny the attraction he felt for Grell, nor could he deny the way it felt like a fist squeezing his heart when the redhead fell bleeding against him.

"What do you want me to say?" He felt like he couldn't get enough air. "You know how I feel about their kind. If it were another Shinigami, or even a _human_, I might be able to share you. Not with a demon, though."

Grell looked crestfallen. "So because I've made sweet love with—"

"Please don't say it that way," scowled William. "It's nauseating."

"Fine," sighed the redhead. "Because I've _shagged_ Bassy, you'll never give yourself to me?"

William hesitated. "I could learn to put it in the past…if it _stays_ there. If you swear to me that you'll never allow Michaelis to touch you in lust, kiss you or otherwise conduct sexual activity with you again, I would be willing to find out if there's something more between us than driving one another insane."

Grell smiled, and he put his arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Oh, William! Do you mean it?"

"_If_ you can keep your hands off of that demon," stressed the administrator, "and _after_ we've captured this rogue and brought him in for judgment. Do you understand, Grell?"

The redhead pouted. "So no lovemaking yet?"

"You've got to _earn_ it, first." William barely resisted a smirk, though he could use some sexual relief, himself. "When we've finished this investigation and I know you can be faithful, we'll make love all you like."

Rather than be disappointed by the delay, Grell swallowed the carrot whole. He perked up at the mere thought of sexual intimacy with William, and he immediately began to fawn on him. "Oh, I'll earn it, my gorgeous, frigid knight! I'll warm that cold nature of yours up, mm-hmm."

He rubbed his body sinuously against William's, making the other man flush. He purred further promises in his ear, and he nibbled the lobe with those sharp teeth of his. William half expected him to bite and draw blood, but Grell was surprisingly gentle. He found himself returning the embrace and squeezing the redhead's bottom.

"You're sure you're up to rejoining this investigation, so soon?" William clenched his jaw at the feel of Grell's arousal grinding against his through their clothes.

"I can handle myself, well enough." Grell ran a hand over William's chest, his voice a low purr of intrigue. "I can let you handle the heavy fighting, if it comes to it. We both know you have no creativity though, Will. You need me."

William arched a brow. "Is that so?"

"It is," insisted Grell with a wink. "But, I need you to keep me in line." He blushed, and he wriggled against him.

William was tempted to swat him on the ass, but he thought if he did that right now, it would only drive the vivacious redhead into a sexual frenzy he might not be able to stop. "I think that's fair."

* * *

Sadly for Grell, it took another full year for them to close in on the elusive rogue again. Undertaker's information helped them procure identification of the subject, but he was slippery. According to Mr. Clayworth, Dedrich Fischer vanished from the Berlin Division a few years after Undertaker deserted. All he could tell them was that Undertaker once worked with him, but it was before his time and the details were buried in records stretching back to the Crusades.

They took what they could get and they followed him ruthlessly as he cut a bloody path across Europe. Why he decided to re-emerge after all these years and go on a killing spree was still anyone's guess, but William suspected that Undertaker might have some insight on that. He'd made it clear that they would get no further information out of him before he was ready to give it, however.

While the Shinigami tried to corner the rogue before the damage could become irreparable, Ciel's seventeenth birthday came around. This time, Sebastian didn't try to coerce him into celebrating it—especially after they got word that Elizabeth would be getting married that year, in the summertime. Ciel wasn't exactly broken-hearted over it, but he couldn't avoid lamenting what might have been. His world was nothing like the one he'd expected to be living in, by this age.

* * *

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 7: Interlude - The Kiss

_Author's note: Part of this chapter has been cut from this particular upload to comply with Fanfiction net's censorship policies. You may read the full, uncensored chapter at Archive of our own-the link to which can be found in my profile here. A lot of this chapter was written before I even started this fiction, as a test to see if I could make it flow. The speed of this particular update was the exception, not the norm. Thank you everyone for the feedback you've left so far! _

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

Even now, he couldn't banish the past. The dreadful events that drove him to summon a demon and bind his soul to him burned in his memory, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Those events led to him becoming a demon himself, eventually. He saw them in his mind's eye now, and he struggled against those unwholesome memories. It had been so long since he'd been plagued with one that he almost forgot how horribly realistic they were.

"Unh…s-stop it! No…get your hands _off_ me! Mother…Father…help me!"

They couldn't come to him, couldn't pry away the groping hands of the filthy beasts that had come for his family. They couldn't stop his branding and subsequent violation, and he screamed, tossing and turning in his canopy bed. There was only one who could help him now…one being that hungered after his soul the way a vampire craves blood. Ciel bit his lip until it bled, tears streaming from his eyes as the terrible memories overwhelmed him.

"S-Sebastian! _Sebastian_!"

At once, strong arms were around him, and that familiar, deep voice was murmuring in his ear. "I'm here, master. Wake up. It's only a shade from the past."

Ciel clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing incoherently against the immaculate black jacket of his suit. He was seventeen now—an adult, as far as society was concerned. With the help of the souls he'd consumed under his butler's instruction, his body had grown to reflect that. He would probably always be small and slim for his age, but he was a man. What kind of man awoke screaming and crying in the night for his butler to come and chase away nightmares? For that matter, what kind of demon would do that?

"I'm…pathetic." The damning self-criticism came out muffled against Sebastian's suit, and he couldn't bring himself to let go of him, despite his self-loathing.

"You had a nightmare, master," reminded Sebastian softly. "And a bad one, from what I can sense from you."

Ciel took a deep, shuddering breath. "Stay here," he demanded. "Just for a while."

"Of course," agreed the older demon. His breath was warm against Ciel's cheek, and the young man's hand clutched his jacket tighter in response.

"I hate you for seeing me this way," announced Ciel.

He felt Sebastian's lips smile as they brushed against his temple. "You ordered me to stay."

"I didn't claim it was logical," muttered Ciel.

"I'll stay for as long as you wish," assured Sebastian, "even if you hate me for it."

Ciel's heart was still pounding like a drum, but he smiled a little against his companion's suit, taking comfort in his presence.

* * *

Sebastian comforted his master until he fell back to sleep. When Ciel's breathing was deep and even again, he gently eased him back down onto the pillows. He straightened his nightshirt and he covered him up with the sheets. He watched him for a while, admiring the way the moonlight streaming in through the window highlighted his fine-boned features. Ciel had always been a beautiful child, and now that he was grown, he made a very attractive young adult. He still wore his hair the same way, though now it was thicker, thanks to his greater health. The demonic energies within him lent a glossy sheen to his hair, and faint blue-violet highlights drew the eye when the light touched it.

Watching him sleeping that way, with the thick fringe of his lashes casting crescent shadows on his cheekbones, Sebastian couldn't resist reaching out to delicately trace the line of Ciel's cheek with a finger. He needed sleep to maintain a healthy mental and emotional state—a handicap brought about both by his human heritage and the frail state of his body upon his transition. Sebastian had never met a demon that required rest each night before, but he understood why it was different, with his master.

Ciel could break a human's neck with his bare hands, but he was barely a step above them in terms of strength and speed, when compared with other demons or reapers. He could grow stronger if he wished, but Ciel refused to take more souls than he needed to mature and be independent. That was a worry to Sebastian, but he knew that even if his master would never acquire his strength or speed, he had cunning and intellect that even Sebastian couldn't match. Ciel was brilliant, and he had a will of iron. His soul had altered, but it was still his at its core.

Sebastian admitted to himself that he felt some envy for whomever Ciel might finally chose to join with, for the first time. Due to his past, Ciel procrastinated on matters of the flesh. He had practically limitless options, with his looks and those eyes. He always got flustered and nervous whenever anyone expressed a sexual interest in him, though. Some would mistake it for shyness, but Sebastian knew better than anyone that Ciel was neither bashful nor uncertain of himself. The trauma of having his innocence torn from him by the same hands that had murdered his parents threatened to keep Ciel virginal to _real_ passion for a very long time.

Ciel sighed in his sleep and rolled onto his side. Sebastian withdrew his hand and stood up. "You are beautiful, master," he whispered, "and I hope whomever you eventually share yourself with appreciates that."

Uncomfortable with his own quiet declaration, Sebastian decided to leave his lord to his slumber. He'd spent too long living among humans, with their soft flesh and their soft feelings. He felt like he was beginning to empathize too strongly with them, and now there was no escape.

"Soon I'll become as sappy as Sutcliff," predicted the demon butler as he shut Ciel's bedroom door behind him. He smirked at the thought. "What a nightmare that would be."

As much as Grell irritated him with his fawning, his unrestrained passion and enthusiasm was a pleasure to experience. He could get rough with him in ways that he couldn't with a human lover, and it was a bit like having both a man and a woman, when he joined with him. Though male in form, Grell had some very feminine qualities. Having a taste for both genders, Sebastian had to admit that it was exciting. They hadn't enjoyed an encounter together for more than a year now, though.

Sebastian thought about his sleeping master again, and he sighed. He had no business lusting over his master, this way. His affection for him had grown into something else as Ciel grew into the form of a young man…something entirely inappropriate. His eyes glowed as he checked his pocket watch. Paris was alive at all hours, and his master should sleep for several more, before he needed his services again. There were plenty of souls to hunt—even if they were lesser ones. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, feeling the hunger more acutely now that he'd thought about it.

He needed to feed.

* * *

Ciel knew he'd fed. He watched his butler suspiciously as he enjoyed the morning tea that he truly no longer required. The familiar aroma of Earl Grey soothed his homesickness, and eased his nerves. Sebastian stood quietly by the door as he worked, ready to refill his tea if needed, while he read over the letters from Tanaka summarizing the company and estate business.

Ciel read over the same paragraph again and again, but it just wasn't sinking in. His gaze kept straying to Sebastian's comely form. The butler radiated contentment, like a cat still savoring a good meal. Ciel could practically imagine him licking his hands the way cats licked their paws after eating. The young man sighed, finding the mental image more sensual than he cared to admit.

"Is something troubling you, master?"

Ciel's face heated, and he hoped to God Sebastian didn't notice. "Nothing. This is just boring me."

"You're usually quite happy to get word from the estate," Sebastian observed. "You seem distracted."

Ciel compressed his lips with displeasure, and he lowered the letter to gaze at Sebastian evenly. "Where did you go last night?"

Sebastian lifted an elegant, black brow. "Master gave me permission to come and go as I wish, so long as I respond quickly to his summons. I don't see how my whereabouts are relevant."

"It's relevant to me," insisted the younger demon. "I want to know where you went, while I was asleep. Did you feed?"

Sebastian lowered his gaze and smiled softly, in that maddeningly sensual way of his. "Oh, yes."

Ciel was unreasonably annoyed. "You didn't wake me."

Sebastian tilted his head and looked at him with mild puzzlement. "You had suffered a distressing nightmare, master. I wanted to let you rest."

Ciel's frustration wasn't assuaged. "Did it even occur to you that I might want to eat, too?"

Sebastian's ruby gaze widened with unfeigned surprise. "Oh? I seem to recall master vowing not to ever do it again, the last time he consumed a soul."

The younger demon barely resisted the urge to squirm. "Stop talking like I'm not here. I was…upset. He was a filthy, degenerate thing that left a foul taste in my mouth. You've said yourself that I need to consume more souls, if I ever want to stand a chance against a demon like you. You should have woken me."

Sebastian bowed gracefully at the waist. "Forgive me, master. I was only acting in your best interest. Of course, we can hunt a soul for you at your earliest convenience. I'm all too happy to assist."

"Did you bed the person you ate?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ciel wished he could take them back. When those ruby eyes met his, he barely resisted the urge to put his face in his palms. Instead, he maintained his calm and he held that riveting gaze. "Did you?"

The smirk returned. "Yes."

An ugly feeling twisted Ciel's gut at the thought of some stranger touching Sebastian's body in ways he'd never touched him. It was ridiculous, but overwhelming. He was still prone at times to boyish impulses, and he acted on them.

"Isn't Grell enough for you?"

Sebastian frowned at him. "Pardon?"

Ciel grimaced and looked down at the letter on the desk absently. "Do you have to tomcat around with everyone you consume, too?"

Sebastian began to chuckle, prompting Ciel to look up at him again. The demon butler was politely covering his lips with gloved fingers, laughing quietly behind them. "Is that what you think I do, master?"

Ciel shrugged. "You seem to end up between their legs a lot."

"Only when the meal promises to be sweet enough to bother," explained Sebastian, "or when my desires get the better of me. I _do_ have urges, master…and feelings. You may recall me telling you that people aren't going to willingly relinquish their souls for nothing, as well. It makes things easier if they go out in pleasure."

Ciel knew that, of course. He was also very much aware of how downright mean and bratty he could be toward his servant. He used to do it because he resented him. Knowing he would take his soul when he died gave him a good reason to do so. It was different now, though. He kept him at arm's length for entirely different reasons.

"I would appreciate it if you would at least _try_ to control those 'urges'," Ciel said coolly. "And find some other way to compensate them for their souls. I may not be Earl Phantomhive any longer, but the Dumont name carries dignity, as well. I don't want rumors to begin about the Dumont butler lifting the skirts of every lady in Paris."

Sebastian chuckled again. "That's a rather dramatic interpretation of my activities, master."

"Dramatic or not, it needs to stop," insisted Ciel. "Including your little liaisons with that red pervert."

"Sutcliff?" If anything, Sebastian seemed even more amused. "May I remind you that it was by _your _order that I had relations with Grell—more than once. True, I've indulged myself with him of my own accord on other occasions since then, but it seems strange to me that you would find it distasteful, after ordering me to—"

"Whether I ordered it before or not, I want it to end."

He was flushed now, and he tried to pass it off as anger, rather than mortification. He'd pimped his butler out like a male whore on more than one occasion, in order to gain cooperation from others. Grell wasn't the first. It left a foul taste in his mouth and his self-loathing made him want to vomit.

"Can you please elaborate your meaning, master?" Sebastian was the picture of calm intrigue. "What precisely do you want to end?"

"The women," obliged Ciel. "The men. Sutcliff. _All_ _of them_. I don't want them touching you that way, anymore."

He reinforced the order with his Faustian mark. It lit up behind his right eye and the mark on Sebastian's hand lit up in response beneath the glove, binding the order. Despite the inner voice warning him that he was revealing too much passion, Ciel had the supreme pleasure of watching his servant's handsome face express open confusion.

"It's unseemly," he went on, "for my butler to carry on this way. Surely, you understand."

Sebastian's expression relaxed, and he smiled thoughtfully in a way that made Ciel blush again. "Yes, my lord."

At once, Ciel understood how selfish he was being. He was ordering Sebastian to abstain from one of the few things that gave him pleasure in life. He belonged to him, completely. As the Undertaker once candidly said to him: Sebastian served him loyally, and Ciel should let him seek his pleasures when he could.

The answer, of course, was that Ciel wasn't willing to let him have those particular "pleasures" with someone else. The problem was that he wasn't sure he was ready to indulge in that kind of pleasure with another person yet, and even if he was, could he really do it with Sebastian? Their relationship was so…complex.

He was so caught up in suppositions and doubts that he didn't notice Sebastian's approach. He jumped when the butler reached for his forgotten teacup and refilled it with fresh tea. Sebastian favored him with one of those polite, friendly smiles he always offered when trying to set someone's mind at ease.

"Your drink needed refreshing." He replaced the teapot on the tray he carried in his other hand, and he walked back over to the corner of the room to put the tray back on the stand.

Ciel got the distinct impression that for whatever reason, Sebastian was somehow pleased by his jealous order.

* * *

"Would you like to hunt for a soul tonight, master?"

Ciel paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt, his head lifting at the question. He glanced at the privacy screen, where his butler waited on the other side. He'd taken to dressing himself most of the time, save for when his attire was too complex to easily put on without aid. He'd also taken to bathing himself. It began after puberty set in, shortly after he achieved his first growth spurt prior to his transition. Vague, confused stirrings and common nightly emissions slowly became the desires of a man. To his dismay, he began to imagine having Sebastian in his bed. He'd always thought that place would be reserved for Lizzy, but then, that was because he'd always been expected to marry her.

"Master, did you hear me?"

Ciel blushed, glancing down at himself in admonishment as his groin swelled in his trousers. "Yes, I heard you. Not tonight, Sebastian." He removed his waistcoat and slung it over the divider with his necktie and jacket.

"But you expressed annoyance with me when I went hunting on my own, without inviting you to come along," reminded the butler.

Ciel resumed unbuttoning his shirt, and he made a decision. He would never know if he could have an intimate relationship with anyone, if he didn't at least try. He stepped out from behind the privacy screen to regard his companion. He deliberately left his shirt hanging open, and he noticed the way Sebastian's gaze roamed over his bared chest. It was brief and subtle, but he thought it might be an indication that the older demon appreciated his body. Why, he had no idea. In Ciel's mind, he was still too thin and small.

"That was because I don't like other people touching you," admitted Ciel boldly. He blushed again, more deeply, when those compelling red eyes met his. "I know it's unfair of me to demand celibacy from you, Sebastian, but I need to discover something."

"And what might that be, my lord?" Sebastian watched him expressionlessly, but his gaze was hot and glowing as it swept over him.

Ciel approached with great daring, forcing his bare feet to keep moving with every step. He stopped before the taller demon, his own eyes altering in color and shape as he looked up at him. He started to reach for him, and he hesitated.

"Sebastian…" His hand curled into a fist right before he would have laid it on the butler's chest, and he trembled.

Sebastian took the fisted hand in both of his, and he stared into Ciel's eyes as he rubbed it with his fingers, coaxing it open. "What is it, master? What do you want me to give you?"

"I…I…" Even now, he couldn't say it. Admitting that he felt sexual desire made him feel sullied and perverse. He looked away, clenching his jaw angrily.

Still holding his hand in one of his, Sebastian reached out to touch his face with the other hand. He gently cupped Ciel's chin and urged him to look at him. It seemed strange for a creature from the depths of hell to have such a gentle, concerned look on his face. The glove-encased hand stroked Ciel's hair back from his eyes, and the sensual lips parted to speak.

"Whatever it is you require of me, I'll do it. All you need do is ask."

He wanted to. All he had now was Sebastian. He needed to know if he could ever have the sort of intimacy that other people his age enjoyed. He should be preparing to marry Elizabeth at this point in his life, but that was not to be. Looking at Sebastian's lips, he wondered what they would feel like against his. The women—and sometimes men—that he had liaisons with seemed to appreciate it. How many souls had he stained with his kisses, when he didn't devour them outright? Feeling like an idiotic child, he blurted the only thing that he could think of.

"Will you kiss me, Sebastian?" He hated the sound of his own voice, so uncertain and vulnerable. It didn't sound like _his_ voice at all, to him.

Sebastian considered him quietly, until Ciel lost his nerve and started to turn away in embarrassment. "Forget it, this is stupid."

Sebastian's hands took hold of his shoulders, stopping him in mid-turn.

"Is that an order, master?" His voice was a soft, silken caress.

Ciel looked up at him again, willing his cheeks to cool. He shook his head. "It's…a request. Whether you grant it is entirely up to you, and I won't resent you if you refuse."

Sebastian smiled mysteriously at him, and Ceil wanted to put a bag over his head. He was convinced he wouldn't do it. Sebastian likely still saw him as a child, and even if he didn't, Ciel was his lord and master. He couldn't possibly harbor any romantic feelings for him.

It therefore came as a surprise to him when the butler cupped his chin and began to lower his mouth to his. He did this slowly, not in a way that was uncertain, but in a cautious manner. Ciel's lips parted of their own accord as Sebastian's closed the distance, and he shut his eyes when he felt his breath against his mouth. The touch of his lips on Ciel's was light, as soft as rose petals. They glided over his with gentle pressure, before covering them firmly. Sebastian's moist, warm tongue traced his lips lightly, before sliding between them to enter his mouth.

Having never kissed anyone this way before, the young man awkwardly pushed back with his own tongue, and he felt Sebastian's lips curve into a smile. "Relax, young master. It isn't a contest."

Chagrined, Ciel tried to do as he suggested. It was difficult, because the teasing, sensual glide of Sebastian's tongue against his was making him tingle. The butler tilted his head and withdrew his tongue, only to ease it in at a different angle. Flushing for a different reason now, Ciel hesitantly placed his hands on Sebastian's shoulders. His fingers curled against the material of his dress jacket as the tantalizing motions of the taller man's mouth drove away all common sense. Despite his underlying nervous tension and excitement, his quick mind picked up on how kissing was supposed to work, and he finally submitted to his companion's tongue and let Sebastian dominate the kiss.

The difference was immediately apparent. He was able to enjoy the motions of Sebastian's lips and tongue so much easier, now that he wasn't fighting it. In addition, Sebastian's passion seemed to ignite with his surrender to the kiss. He put more pressure against his lips, and his tongue explored with greater enthusiasm. He put his arms around Ciel and drew him close, until their bodies were pressed flush against each other. Ciel could feel every powerful, lean contour of his taller companion's body and it made him moan.

Hearing himself make such a noise was both humbling and startling. It wasn't the same as the moans of pain or distress he made when ill or suffering. It was heavy…breathy…erotic. He reached up to comb his fingers through Sebastian's hair, to touch it the way he'd secretly wanted to for so long. It was as silky as it looked, sliding through his fingers like supple raven feathers. He cupped the back of Sebastian's head to prevent him from pulling away, now heartily invested in the kiss.

It all went well until Sebastian slid his hands into the opening of Ciel's shirt to touch his bared skin. It wasn't as though he'd never touched his body before; he used to dress him and help him bathe, after all. This was a different sort of touch, though; a touch filled with lust. It triggered the memory of different hands on his tender young body—rougher, human hands. Ciel gasped and jumped, his body tensing and his mouth freezing in mid-kiss.

Sebastian immediately stopped, and he pulled back to look at him. "I frightened you." His eyes were glowing with lust now, but he withdrew his hands. "I apologize for overstepping myself, master."

Ciel shook his head, shutting his eyes as he tried to block out those horrible, damning memories. "It isn't you, Sebastian. It's me. Like Angela said, I'm…tainted. Unclean. I never should have asked for this."

He hugged himself and he shivered involuntarily, remembering the angel's passionate condemnation of him. Ciel still had pride aplenty, but some of the childish arrogance he used to boast had faded as he matured, and now he doubted himself in ways he never had, before. Sebastian cupped his face when he looked away.

"Please look at me, young master."

Ciel almost refused, but something in his voice drew him to obey. Sebastian's eyes were back to normal again, and they rested on him sincerely. "That deranged, fallen angel knew _nothing_ of your soul…not like I did. She—or _he_, as the case may be, was seeing you how he wanted to see you. If that creature had ever bothered to truly see you, it never would have come to such a ridiculous conclusion. You've told me before that there's no 'coming back' from a thing like what you lived through, and yet, here you are."

Ciel sighed. "Yes. Here I am; a demon."

Sebastian smiled. "Perhaps that isn't such a bad thing, after all."

"_You_ thought so, when I first woke up," reminded Ciel. He remembered how quiet Sebastian had been, those first couple of months. He'd practically moped.

"I believed you were lost to me," excused Sebastian. He removed his gloves, and he caressed Ciel's face with the back of his onyx nails. "I've never known a transitioned demon personally before, young master. It took some time for you to behave more like yourself again, too. We demons have souls, but they're very different from human ones—and quite inedible."

Ciel stared at him, realizing the implications behind his words. "So then, you stopped sulking about because I started acting more like myself again? I thought you were just pouting because you couldn't have my soul."

"I…" Now it was Sebastian's turn to avert his gaze. He didn't often get confused or flustered, but now was such a time. "That's true. I did lament the fact that your soul was lost to me. Knowing what you do now about demonkind and soul consumption, surely you can understand that it's not so simple, though."

Ciel thought about the souls he'd consumed himself, and he grimaced. They were all a part of him now, for as long as he existed. He didn't know what would happen to those souls if he ever died. He presumed they'd be free to travel the afterlife, but maybe they would just cease to exist. Either way, the soul of those people lived on in him, possibly forever.

It struck him then, what his servant was trying to say to him. Ciel's eyes widened with the realization, and he stared at the taller man. "You wanted to immortalize me?"

Sebastian didn't meet his eyes. "At first, I simply wanted to consume you. As time passed and I came to know you, that changed. I wanted to keep you with me always, and be one with you. I did not anticipate things turning out this way, however. I wouldn't have even considered relinquishing my claim on your soul to turn you into a demon."

The butler looked at him at last, smirking. "I suppose if you were to put it in business terms, I promoted you from a snack to my personal treasure, to be kept to myself for as long as I exist. I'm prepared to accept your admonishment for such a foolish, romantic notion."

Ciel wasn't sure _how_ to feel about the admission. "Y-you mean you had romantic feelings for me when I was still small?"

"Of course not," corrected the butler, "I never once considered touching you with a lover's caress, or surrendering my lips to you, until you came of age. Even then, I had no intention of acting on those stirrings…until you invited me to." He brushed the pad of his thumb over Ciel's kiss-swollen, bottom lip. "You needn't fear me, master. I would never take this sweet body without your consent, and if that doesn't comfort you, take solace in the fact that you can stop me with a single command."

Ciel flushed. "I know all of that…and I don't think you would…would…you know."

"Rape you?"

The young man shut his eyes, swallowed and nodded. His thoughts went to the night he'd asked Sebastian if demons could ever love, and he recalled the oddly gentle expression on his face as he kissed his tears away and assured him that they could.

"Even when our contract was fresh and I loathed you," Ciel murmured, "I knew you would never try anything like that. You might be a fiend, but you're an honest one."

"When it suits me," agreed Sebastian with a slight bow and a smile. He sobered, gazing at Ciel questioningly. "Was my kiss to your liking, before I startled you?"

Ciel looked up at that perfect, pale face, and he decided to answer not with words, but with action. He reached up to cup the back of Sebastian's head again, and he drew his mouth down to his for an encore. This time, the butler was more mindful of his hands. He put his arms around Ciel to draw him close again, and the passion grew all over again. Ciel felt the evidence of his servant's desire against his hip, and his own arousal was pressing against Sebastian's thigh. Sebastian's mouth broke away from his to travel along his jaw, and then to his throat. He nuzzled the spot under Ciel's right ear, and a pleasant shiver passed through him.

"Stay with me, tonight," demanded Ciel.

The butler pulled away to regard him quietly. His ruby gaze was heavy-lidded and opaque, glowing with lust. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

He could feel the uncertainty in his master's actions as Ciel walked over to the bed. Sebastian allowed himself the pleasure of letting his gaze caress the young man's body while his back was turned to him. Though slight in build, the shape of Ciel's body was pleasing to the eye. He'd gained some physical strength in the last few months—mostly due to conducting some outdoor activities. Now that his body wasn't so frail, he could do a lot more without getting fatigued or having an asthma attack. He probably wouldn't grow much taller, and he'd never be a muscular man. That suited Sebastian just fine.

Ciel stopped at the bed, and he hesitated for a moment before he started to take his shirt off. Sebastian impulsively started to assist him, and the younger demon gave a nervous start when he took hold of the shirt.

"I'm only assisting you, master," soothed the butler, "just as I have in the past, many times before."

"It's different," whispered Ciel, turning his head a little as Sebastian pulled his shirt off and draped it over the rocking chair near the bed.

"Yes, it's different," agreed Sebastian. He laid his hands on the slim shoulders, resting them there lightly to give Ciel the opportunity to adjust to the feel of flesh on flesh. "You aren't used to my bare hands touching your skin."

Ciel shook his head. "That's not it."

Sebastian nodded in understanding. "You still recall a different touch, from your mortal life. I understand."

Ciel drew a shuddering breath. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what, master?" Sebastian closed in slowly, and he nuzzled Ciel's hair.

"In that…pitying tone."

Sebastian chuckled. "Pity? You must have me confused with someone else. I have never pitied you." He ran his bare hands over the smooth, equally bare shoulders. "I respected you. Why do you think your soul was so appealing, master? Strength isn't always measured by brute, physical force."

"I need to put it behind me," insisted Ciel. "I'm not human anymore, and that life is gone."

His words were bold and determined, but when Sebastian nodded in agreement and embraced him from behind, he tensed again. Hearing his breath hitch, the butler loosened his hold on him. He frowned and he made a reluctant suggestion.

"Perhaps master's first time should be with a female. My male anatomy clearly—"

"Shut _up_," interrupted Ciel. He turned in Sebastian's arms and he looked up at him with glowing, slit-pupiled demon eyes. "I don't _want_ a woman, stupid. Why do you think I'm trying to…what do you think this is about?"

Sebastian lowered his gaze contritely, accustomed by now to dealing with Ciel's bratty moments. They were getting fewer and further between, these days, but he'd only been an adult for a short time. "I humbly beg my master's forgiveness, for making such a glaring error of judgment."

"You can stop smirking."

Sebastian wrestled the curve of his lips back under control, unwilling to spoil the progress he was making by angering his master too much. "Yes, my lord."

Ciel took a deep breath, and he pulled out of Sebastian's embrace to turn down the bed covers. The butler's eyes were drawn to the brand mark on Ciel's back, just below his left shoulderblade. The scar was healed and faint now—easily overlooked unless one knew it was there. Ciel would carry that mark with him for the rest of his long life, but that was nothing compared to the painful memories connected to it. Barefoot and dressed only in his trousers now, Ciel turned around and sat down on the mattress. He looked up at Sebastian with a flash of uncertainty in his gaze, his eyes again returning to their human appearance and color.

"Take your clothes off," ordered Ciel. His hands clenched at his sides, grasping the sheets beneath them.

Sebastian glanced at the tense hands, and he slowly began to comply, removing his shoes and socks, first. Perhaps this encounter wouldn't be as pleasant as he'd first thought. He was fast getting the impression that Ciel was pushing himself to do this, and he was using Sebastian as his tool. It was as Sebastian reminded him earlier: he could do nothing without Ciel's consent…and that made him the safest person in the world for the young man to experience his first sexual encounter with.

The butler said none of this. He watched his master quietly as he removed his uniform, starting with the tie and the jacket. He saw Ciel's throat move with a swallowing motion as he began to unbutton his shirt, and he noticed the glisten of perspiration above his upper lip. Compelled by his master's very specific order, Sebastian continued to undress and he silently wondered if it salved the young man's wounded dignity, to hold such power over him.

* * *

This was wrong. While Ciel rarely had compunctions about ordering Sebastian to do menial things just to annoy him, this was no better than what those people had done to him, years ago. This wasn't how he wanted his first encounter to be.

"Stop."

The butler obeyed immediately, his shadowed gaze watching him curiously. He dropped his pale hands and Ciel's eyes followed them, fixating briefly on the black fingernails. He lifted his gaze again to meet Sebastian's eyes, but he didn't make it further than his torso. The material of Sebastian's half-unbuttoned shirt was gaping open, and Ciel stared at the smooth, toned expanse of chest showing. He'd never seen more of Sebastian's bare flesh than his hands and face before, and the sight of that alabaster-pale skin rendered him stupid.

"Master? Would you prefer I remove my trousers, first?"

Ciel realized that he was staring with his mouth hanging open, and he flushed. He covertly covered his mouth on a fake cough to be sure he wasn't drooling. "No. I…I've changed my mind. You don't have to get undressed."

If anything, Sebastian looked annoyed. He began to speak to him as though he were a child, again. "Young master is being an insufferable tease, tonight. I suppose this amuses him?"

Ciel looked up at him again, frowning. He realized then that Sebastian thought he was playing a game, and he cursed. "No, damn you! I'm not playing some sort of game with you. I just…want it to be real."

The veiled anger faded from the butler's eyes, to be replaced by curiosity. "What about this encounter seems unrealistic to you?"

"You." Ciel bit his lip, and he tried not to notice the way Sebastian's trousers were still tented at the crotch. "Do you really even want me, or are your reactions just compulsory?"

Sebastian smiled, and for a brief second, Ciel thought he detected relief in his eyes. "Is that it, then? You think I don't really want this?"

Ciel shrugged, uncertainly, rubbing his bare arms as he looked away. "I ordered you to undress. I didn't ask. That isn't the behavior of a lover, is it?"

Again, the butler smiled. "That would depend on the nature of the relationship, master. Not all affairs are formal, polite events."

"Oh." Feeling horribly ignorant about matters of the flesh, Ciel felt like an idiot. He knew how everything worked in sex and reproduction, but he really knew nothing about the social interactions. "So it's common for lovers to order each other around, then?"

Sebastian nodded. "Sometimes. It all depends on the individuals and their taste. Some may find a more…polite…approach more to their taste."

Ciel made an inviting gesture, and when the butler obligingly sat down on the bed beside him, he looked at him sidelong. "And what do _you_ prefer?"

Sebastian put an arm around him. "I'm versatile. I prefer whatever makes you feel most comfortable."

The young man sighed, his passions cooling a bit with annoyance. "That doesn't really answer my question."

Sebastian leaned in to murmur in his ear. "Perhaps that question is better left to be answered another time, master. Tonight is about pleasing you."

He caught hold of Ciel's earlobe with his teeth, and he gently tugged it. The simple action made the younger demon's groin harden like stone again, and a groan burst from his lips before he could stop it. He turned his head and he allowed his eyes to linger on his servant, feasting on the glimpse of his chest.

"I'd like you to lay beside me," whispered Ciel past a tightening throat, "and hold me. I know you don't require rest the way I do, but…I think it would be nice to sleep with you."

Sebastian nodded. "Is that a request?"

Ciel nodded. "It is. As before with the kiss; you can decline if you choose." It felt very strange, to _ask_ Sebastian to do things instead of just ordering him. This was vastly different from matters of the estate, though. He couldn't use his power over Sebastian that way.

Sebastian cupped his chin with one hand, urging Ciel to tilt his head back for a soft kiss. "It would be my pleasure, master." His breath was warm against Ciel's lips. "Do you still want me to stop undressing, or would you rather I join you in my clothes? I might point out that you haven't finished changing into your nightshirt, either."

Ciel swallowed his returning nervousness. "Forget the nightshirt. I want to sleep in the nude. With you."

He got the words out okay, but they were followed up by a nervous giggle. Mortified by the high-pitched sound, Ciel put a hand to his mouth and looked at Sebastian with dread. He braced himself for a cheeky comment, but instead, he found the butler smiling at him with quiet delight.

"Yes, It's best to begin slowly, I agree. Although," Sebastian looked down at his crotch, where his condition was still quite obvious, "I must apologize for the state of my body."

"Hmph…you're no worse off than I am," muttered Ciel. He got nervous again when Sebastian resumed unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt. "Um…can I help?"

The request seemed to surprise Sebastian. He parted his lips to respond, and then he hesitated and reconsidered whatever he'd been about to say. "If you wish."

He dropped his hands and he watched curiously as Ciel reached out and began to unfasten the remaining buttons, opening the shirt slowly. His fingers weren't as deft as Sebastian's, but he was no longer hopeless when it came to working clothing on his own. He got the shirt open, and Sebastian shrugged out of it fluidly and tossed it over the chair with uncanny ease. Ciel gulped again at the sight of his upper body, fully bared to him in the moonlight. He wanted to touch the trim waist, the strong shoulders and the toned arms. He wanted to press his cheek against the smooth pectoral muscles of his chest and listen to Sebastian's heartbeat.

He started to reach for the buttons of Sebastian's trousers, but he lost his nerve again, and he bit his lip. The butler smiled softly at him. "Please, lie down and allow me to do the rest, master."

Ciel nodded convulsively. After all, he'd been dressed and undressed by Sebastian many times in the past. Perhaps it was best to fall back on something more familiar. He reclined in the bed with a sigh, and he watched from beneath lowered lashes as Sebastian stood up and put his back to him. The butler unfastened his trousers and pulled them down, baring a firm, rounded ass that had Ciel contemplating things better left unsaid. Worried that he might be getting a nosebleed, the exiled Earl brushed a finger under his nose to check for moisture. If he thought it was bad now, he half expected his nose to start gushing once Sebastian put his pants on the chair and turned around to face him.

"Uh." Ciel stared at the butler's erection and the shadow of his balls beneath it, framed by fine, dark hair. The pubic hair was really the only hair on Sebastian's body, other than what was on his head. It grew sparse a the top, fading into a faint little trail below the navel…much like Ciel's did.

"Is my body to your liking, master?" Sebastian smiled teasingly at him, probably very much aware of his own beauty.

"I…y-yes," stammered Ciel, feeling like a stupid kid all over again. He tensed when Sebastian climbed onto the bed with him, going as stiff as a board.

"Please, relax," soothed the butler. "My condition doesn't rule my common sense, master. I won't let my hands wander overly. May I help you out of these?" His tattooed hand slid down Ciel's hip, drawing a shiver of both lust and anxiety from him.

Afraid he'd just squeak if he tried to speak again right now, Ciel nodded. He held perfectly still and he stared directly at the hovering butler's face with wide eyes, willing his gaze not to slip lower. Sebastian began to unfasten his pants, and his mouth quirked at one corner.

"Master, you can blink."

Ciel realized why his eyes were burning so much, and he blinked as advised.

"You may also look at me at your leisure," encouraged Sebastian softly. "Inspect me. Familiarize yourself with me. I belong to you, and you should feel comfortable around me in any setting."

Ciel found his voice again. "You say that so calmly." He involuntarily flinched when Sebastian got his pants open, and he averted his gaze as he felt the cool night air touch the tip of his erection. "You proclaim yourself my property like you don't really care. When I awoke and saw you looking down at me, I thought for certain you would hate me."

Sebastian smiled. "Lift your hips, young master."

Ciel complied, and the butler slid his trousers down and off of him with one smooth, sensual motion.

"I think you misunderstand my feelings," explained Sebastian after flinging the trousers with uncanny accuracy across the room. They landed on the privacy divider with the rest of Ciel's clothing. The young man could feel that crimson gaze caressing his body…could feel the heat as if from a brand.

"You see, master, this bond doesn't go only one way. I don't mind proclaiming myself as yours, because in truth, you belong to me, too. We are bound to one another, for eternity."

Sebastian stretched out beside him on the bed, lying on his side. He propped himself up on one elbow and Ciel's face burned as those eyes stared at him. "Well, master, will you now refuse to gaze upon me?"

Ciel shut his eyes and swallowed, feeling uncommonly emotional again. "I want to. It's just…you're so beautiful and I'm…not."

"Nonsense."

Hearing the scoffing tone of his voice, the self-exiled young lord opened his eyes again and looked up at the demon leaning over him. Sebastian had one of those deceptively gentle smiles on his lips, and his ruby eyes were still aglow with desire. Ciel saw himself as frail, sickly and undesirable, but the way Sebastian was looking at him made him feel exactly the opposite.

"What do you see, when you look at me?"

Sebastian considered the question briefly, and then he stroked Ciel's bangs back from his eyes as he answered. "I see strength and a depth of character unmatched. Perhaps you don't believe it, but you _are_ beautiful. I'm not the first to think it, I'm certain. You _do_ know that you were the only human I ever completely respected, don't you?"

Ciel doubted that. "Our pact gave you little choice in that matter."

Sebastian chuckled darkly—a sound filled with quite menace that made a shiver go up Ciel's spine and curbed his lust, somewhat. "Young master, respect isn't necessary to enter and honor a contract. Human beings are a source of food for us, and nothing more. Only once in a rare while does one shine brightly enough to tempt our kind into turning them, or sparing their souls. You are one of those exceptions."

Ciel smirked without humor, his shyness fading a bit. "Not anymore."

Sebastian lowered his head, and his lips hovered a bare inch from Ciel's. "No, you've become so much more than that. Beneath it all, however, you're still my master."

He kissed him then, and Ciel reached up to run his fingers through his silken hair. He started to tremble uncontrollably, and he flinched involuntarily when Sebastian's long-fingered hand caressed his hip. He cursed his own cowardice when the hand withdrew immediately. He _wanted _Sebastian to touch him, but the older demon was making good on his promise not to let his hands wander. Sebastian's tongue caressed his sensually, and Ciel's groin tightened further with arousal. He felt Sebastian's erection press against his outer thigh, the moist tip smearing a glistening trail on his skin.

Hesitantly and timidly, Ciel slid his hand down from Sebastian's head to his shoulder. He marveled over the satiny feel of his skin, and he dared explore a bit further. He hesitated as he traced the collarbone, wanting to lay his palm over the toned expanse of chest. Sebastian seemed to sense his desire, and he gently laid his own hand over Ciel's to guide it. His heart beat strong and steady beneath Ciel's palm, and he found it soothing.

Sebastian relaxed onto his side, and he coaxed Ciel to turn and face him. His mouth remained insistent, the motions of his lips and tongue mesmerizing. He thrust into his mouth, delving suggestively and stroking the moist recesses. It tickled the roof of his mouth pleasantly, and Ciel unconsciously rubbed his arousal against Sebastian's leg. He couldn't say how long they kissed, but he was breathless when Sebastian finally pulled away to gaze into his dazed eyes.

"You should try and rest now, master." His voice was a husky purr.

Ciel nodded, his face flushed with passion. "You'll stay with me?"

"Of course," answered the butler with a crooked little smile. "As we agreed. I may even join you in sleep, once you've drifted off." He caressed Ciel's back as he spoke, and the gentle glide of the black fingernails felt good against his skin.

Ciel sighed, appreciating Sebastian's patience and consideration. "You're in danger of seeming kind, Sebastian."

That provoked a soft chuckle. "I can—when occasion warrants it—adopt the illusion of kindness to get what I most desire…Ciel."

Hearing his name on those lips startled him to wide-eyed wonderment, and he blinked at the butler. Sebastian had never, ever spoken his name before—not even when Ciel accidentally summoned him from hell and agreed to the contract.

"You've never spoken my name before," he observed un-necessarily.

"I thought under the circumstances, you might allow it," answered the butler. "If it displeases you—"

"No," interrupted Ciel hastily. "I don't mind, under the circumstances. I know you'll address me properly in public."

"Of course," assured Sebastian.

Ciel closed his eyes slowly. He quite liked the way Sebastian said his name. The stroking on his back continued, lulling him into a more relaxed state. He called sleep to him as he'd been taught to, years ago. It came in a rush, carrying him into darkness and dreams while his butler held him close.

* * *

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 8: Collaboration

**_Author's note: _**_I'm battling the flu, so my proofreading skills leave something to be desired. I'll of course correct any mistakes I missed later, when my head is clearer. In addition, a scene from this chapter has been removed from this upload due to explicit content. You can read the un-censored version at Archive of our own, which is linked under my profile here.  
_

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

He awoke from his deliberately induced sleep long before his master, and he took advantage of the opportunity to just watch him. Spooned up intimately against the younger demon, Sebastian caressed Ciel's pale shoulder as he gazed down at him. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the first rays of morning began to creep across the floor through the slit in the curtains of the bedroom windows. Sebastian stroked the lean, smooth arm and he admired the supple tone in it. He brushed his lips over the Ciel's shoulder, kissing the skin lightly as he pondered the new, recent development in their relationship.

His master was volatile in temperament. There was a chance that when Ciel awoke, he wouldn't react very well to the intimacy of their situation. Sebastian had two choices before him. He could keep going and ease Ciel out of slumber with the kisses and touches of a lover, or he could slip away before he woke up and greet him with morning tea.

The first option was naturally the more tempting one. Now that he'd tasted his master's soft skin and touched his trembling body, he wanted more. Sebastian wasn't one to rush these things, however. The reward was always so much sweeter when savored. He had, after all, served Ciel for more than two years just for the opportunity to dine on the ambrosia of his soul. The reward of his soul was lost to him, but his body…ah…he could still have that.

"Master," whispered Sebastian huskily, becoming aroused by the thought of joining with him. He impulsively trailed more soft kisses over his shoulder and the side of his neck, his onyx nails skimming over his ribcage and hip. Ciel stirred and murmured absently in his sleep, instinctively cuddling against the bigger demon's warmth. Sebastian smiled. Perhaps a bit of touching before breakfast would be acceptable, after all.

* * *

Ciel felt the press of Sebastian's arousal against his backside when the butler's gentle ministrations roused him fully from sleep. He stopped breathing for a moment, blue eyes blinking as full awareness came to him. Sebastian's naked body lay full-length against his from behind, but he was keeping his touch relatively chaste. He was supporting himself on one arm, while he stroked Ciel's waist, hip and outer thigh with patient, sensual motions. At first he was helplessly, instinctively alarmed by the intimacy. When the butler didn't try to touch him between the legs, Ciel began to relax a bit.

"Are you awake, my lord?" Sebastian's warm breath stirred Ciel's hair and tickled his ear.

"Yes," murmured the young man. His groin was steadily tightening in response to Sebastian's skilled touch and seductive little kisses. "What time is it?"

"Barely past six, I imagine," answered Sebastian. He briefly caught Ciel's earlobe between his lips and he gave it a tug before speaking again. "Did you dream?"

Ciel blushed immediately, making Sebastian smile. "Some."

The velvety lips traveled to his jawline. "It must have been an interesting dream, my lord, to bring such color to your cheeks."

"It usually is," sighed Ciel in confession. "Don't play coy, Sebastian. I don't believe for a moment that you aren't aware of the condition I've been waking up in each day since attaining puberty."

"These things can be a delicate subject," answered Sebastian softly. "A butler shouldn't be so crass as to mention them directly...Ciel. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Hearing him speak his name again like that, with just a hint of uncertainty, aroused Ciel even further. He could tell Sebastian savored the taste of his name on his lips, by the way he took his time pronouncing it each time he uttered it. There was something erotic and oddly sweet about such a simple thing. Ciel had often harbored secretive feelings of affection for his butler over his years of service to him, even when it was laced with exasperation. Hearing him speak his name like that made those fond feelings rise to the surface, and Ciel turned his head to reward him for it.

He met Sebastian's questing lips with his own for a kiss, putting aside the lingering, virginal uncertainty he felt. Sebastian returned the kiss with gentle enthusiasm, taking his time to brush his lips back and forth against his between moments of soft pressure. Ciel fell into it quickly, again stunned by how easily a simple kiss from the other man could affect him. Sebastian's kisses were like just about everything else he did: methodical, confident and skilled. He waited for Ciel's mouth to relax, before he probed between them with his tongue to explore further.

Ciel absently placed his hand over Sebastian's longer one as it slid over his waist and onto his stomach. The touch felt good, even as it provoked a tremble within him. The butler only rubbed his middle abdomen in soothing circles for a few moments, while his lips and tongue treated Ciel to wondrous felicity. The feel of his arousal pressing against him excited the young man further, and he pushed back against it invitingly, even as his cheeks colored again with both passion and embarrassment.

Sebastian's hand glided upwards to his chest, and Ciel made a low sound of confused pleasure in his throat when he tweaked his right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He circled the pebbled nub a moment later with the pad of his finger, provoking tingling sensations that made Ciel throb with lust. He did the same to the other nipple after a few moments, switching between the two to pleasure them both without neglect.

"Sebastian," sighed Ciel against the demon butler's lips when they parted from his mouth. He felt them smile, before they covered his again. He caressed Sebastian's tongue with his own as it entered his mouth again, and he shivered with desire. He could feel moisture gathering on the tip of his arousal in response to his heated passion, and he was torn between feeling desirable and shameful.

As if he could sense his growing unease with his own sexuality, Sebastian gentled his kiss and he stopped fondling his nipples. He rubbed the young man's belly again, before letting his hand settle on his hip. Silently grateful that he wasn't pushing for more, Ciel laid his hand on top of Sebastian's again, and he threaded his fingers between his.

"Shall I prepare morning tea while you freshen up and dress?" murmured Sebastian, breaking the kiss.

As much as he would have liked to lie there all morning kissing, there were responsibilities to take care of. Ciel checked a sigh, and he nodded. He didn't want to risk things moving too quickly, anyhow. Last night, it had taken all of his courage to speak his feelings so plainly to Sebastian, and to initiate contact with him.

"That would be good, Sebastian."

The butler disengaged from him and rolled over to get out of bed. Ciel bit his lip and listened to the faint sounds of his movements as Sebastian retrieved his clothing and started to get dressed. Compelled by desire, Ciel rolled over to look at him. Sebastian's back was turned and the young man was treated to a lovely view as he bent over to pull his pants up. His gaze lingered on the sight of Sebastian's bare, perfect buttocks until the pants covered them up, and then he admired the curve of his spine and the smooth muscle tone of his back and shoulders. He was glad that Sebastian was built lean, and not heavily muscled. It suited his sinuous grace, to have such a lithe body. God, he was a gorgeous creature...and he was all Ciel's.

Sebastian turned to regard him, his crimson gaze lazy and sensual as it met his. "Would you prefer the Earl Grey this morning, or something different?"

It took a moment for Ciel to comprehend the question. He blinked at Sebastian owlishly, and he flushed at his own possessive thought patterns. "Th-the Earl Grey would be fine," he stammered. Mortified, Ciel crammed one of the pillows over his head.

He felt Sebastian's shadow fall over him as the butler approached the bed, and he resisted a bit as he pulled the pillow away. The ruby gaze was patiently amused on him when Sebastian took the pillow and leaned over him.

"I would remind my master that I belong to him completely. There's no shame in gazing upon me, in any state of dress—or lack thereof." Sebastian caressed Ciel's blushing cheek with the backs of his nails, and he smiled at him. "Have confidence, sir. We can take as much time as you need. My body is yours, and you should enjoy it at your leisure. I give it willingly."

His words alone were enough to inspire a fresh wave of lust, and Ciel swallowed again. Sebastian really had seductive language down to an art. "That's fine," he said mechanically. "Now leave me to dress in private." He nearly added the word "please" in his shyness, but he kept his tone firm and commanding, somehow.

Sebastian lowered his eyes and straightened up to bow gracefully at the waist. Even that simple motion seemed sexual to Ciel, but that could have been because the butler was still nude from the waist up.

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"I really think this is a foolish idea," William said to his companion as they approached the path leading up to the small estate on the hill. "However do I allow myself to be talked into these things, by you?"

"Do you want to catch this pesky rogue, or not?" Grell looked sidelong at him with amusement. "What is it you fear, William? That I'll leap into Sebby's arms and elope with him?"

"I think his master might have a thing or two to say about that, if you were to try," answered the taller reaper.

Grell smirked at him. "Regardless, our chances of locating our quarry will be much better, if we can convince these two to help in the search. The sooner we catch him, the sooner you and I can finally collect on the bargain we've made."

Grell pinched him on the rump, making William jump and glare at him warningly. "Now is _not_ the time for these shenanigans. We have countless years ahead of us. You can wait a while longer."

Grell sighed. "I've _already_ been waiting for over fifty years, you insufferable cock-tease."

William smiled subtly. "You agreed to my terms."

"Just you wait," Grell promised, "when this investigation is over, I'll ravish you until you can't walk."

The brunet looked faintly amused. "Perhaps. Until then, let's just keep our minds focused on the objective. I really dislike the thought of making any sort of deal with a demon—especially one as clever as the Phantomhive boy. Be on your guard, Sutcliff. I know you'll be wretchedly distracted by Michaelis, but we can't underestimate his master."

"That pipsqueak," sighed Grell, kicking a pebble aside as they ascended the path.

"He's grown," reminded William. They both saw the proof of that just the other day, when they spotted Ciel in the city browsing the shops. They'd deigned not to approach him, but he'd definitely achieved adulthood.

"He's still a small fellow," insisted Grell with a shrug. "Barely taller than the girls his age. I'll bet Sebby still carries him around like a doll."

"One might get the impression that you're jealous," William pointed out.

"Not hardly," scoffed Grell. "I have more passion in the tip of my pinky than that frail little demon has in his entire body. Besides, I have you now...as soon as we catch this absurd lunatic."

William gave him a look that said he wasn't convinced, but he offered no further critique. They made it to the door and stopped, and the brunet hesitated before reaching for the bell pull.

"Let us hope we can convince them to cooperate, without the need for special incentive."

He rang the doorbell and stepped back, keeping a firm hold on his death scythe, just in case.

* * *

He supposed it should have come as a complete surprise to him to open up the front door and find the two reapers standing there, but Sebastian had always assumed they would cross paths again, some day. Grell was unusually reserved, he noticed. He didn't attempt to embrace him, as he generally did whenever they met. He watched him with adoration shining in his strange, dual-irises, but he kept quiet while his more reserved companion spoke.

"Greetings, Mr. Michaelis," said William with a stiff, formal little bow. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes, and pardon my rancor, but I would have preferred it to be a while longer before we met again."

"The feeling is mutual," assured William with a frown. "Believe me. We aren't here because we want to be—" a glance at his redheaded companion made him sigh, "—or at least, _I'm_ not. This is strictly business, and it would be worth your while to hear what we have to say."

"Sebastian, who is it?" Ciel's voice called out from somewhere inside the house, barely sounding like the voice of the boy the two reapers once knew.

"It's William T. Spears and Grell Sutcliff, master," answered Sebastian over his shoulder, his hooded, ruby gaze remaining on his two unexpected guests. "Shall I send them away?"

"What in blazes are _they_ doing here?"

There was the sound of footsteps hurrying up to the door from behind Sebastian, treading lightly on the polished wooden floors. The butler stepped aside to allow his master to come forward and both Shinigami watched the young man with interest. Ciel stood more than half a head shorter than Sebastian at 5'4, but his features had matured from a boy's to a man's, and he was quite eye-catching in his ensemble of black and blue velvet, today.

"Good to see you again, Lord Dumont," William said courteously. Beside him, Grell didn't wear such a polite expression. In fact, the redhead was eyeing Ciel with obvious jealousy, and the young demon glared back at him with the same expression.

"To what do we owe the dubious pleasure?" pressed Ciel, polite but coldly aloof.

Grell parted his lips to speak, but William nudged him with his scythe warningly, and he spoke up before he could get a word out. "We're here to make a proposition. May we come in? I'd rather not discuss this matter out in the open, regardless of the private location."

Ciel considered them, and then he looked at Sebastian and nodded. "They can join me in the drawing room."

Sebastian gave him a little bow and he made an elegant, inviting gesture to their guests. "Won't you please come in, gentlemen?" He resisted a smirk when he saw the warning look his master gave to Grell, just before walking away. He could almost pity the redhead, if he said or did anything inappropriate while there. Ciel was quite possessive of him.

* * *

Sebastian poured them all a tea infusion and he stood silently by the archway as William began to explain their purpose. The dispatch supervisor watched Ciel covertly as he spoke, taking in little details. Small of build though he was, Phantomhive had grown into quite the dashing fellow. Those deep, clever blue eyes of his seemed to take everything in, while revealing nothing of the thoughts behind them. The fair skin was perfectly flawless, and the dark hair framing Ciel's sculpted face was thick and shone with blue-ish highlights where the light touched it. He'd traded in his previous fashion of short pants for dark trousers, and his navy blue frock coat was made of soft-looking velvet. He wore a skull pin crowning his frilly black cravat, and his patent leather shoes were immaculately polished.

He looked every bit the young lord, and he probably had ladies lining up for the chance to catch his eye. William hadn't missed the one instant where Ciel had betrayed some emotion, however. Though cool and aloof now, when the young hybrid first laid eyes on Grell, there was an unmistakable flash of dislike and jealousy in his eyes.

William resisted an inward sigh. He could relate, as much as he hated to admit it. Each time he saw Grell look at Sebastian Michaelis, he wanted clip the demon's head off and drag Grell out of this place by the hair.

"Well then, you came for a reason," pressed Ciel politely between sips. "Let's hear it, if you please."

"We came to offer you a bribe," Grell said bluntly.

William glared at him. They had agreed to allow him to do the talking, since Phantomhive had so many reasons to dislike him. "What my associate means to say," he corrected with a warning look at Grell, "is that we are willing to offer monetary compensation to you, if you can provide information or assistance that leads to the capture of a rogue Shinigami we've been hunting."

"I see." Ciel smirked, his gaze going to Grell again. "Another one? Your people don't seem to be very loyal, Mr. Spears. Perhaps you should revise your methods of punishment, when they slip."

"Yes, our organization has agreed to be more strict in such cases, from now on," assured William with dignity, "but that's our affair. The more pressing matter for us to concern ourselves with is the apprehension of the criminal. He's eluded us for far too long, and we've tracked him down here to Paris."

"How long has he been eluding you?"

Grell sipped his tea and shrugged. "It isn't important."

"Two years, now," William confessed. He ignored the annoyed look his companion shot at him. "He is old...probably as old as the Undertaker. He vanished some time ago, and he was presumed dead. He resurfaced two years ago and he began killing mortals not on the death list, starting in London. He's been steadily working his way across Europe ever since, and he's quite crafty."

Ciel exchanged a glance with his butler, and he looked subtly amused. "And what do you think I can do about that?"

"You may still be a snooty brat," Grell answered before Will could, "but you're a brat with connections."

"What my colleague means to say," intervened William with an annoyed look at Grell, "is that we know you, Earl Phantomhive. You may go by another name now, but you still play the game of power. I'm sure you have some underworld connections here, as well as those of the standard legal variety. Tell me I'm wrong."

Ciel shrugged in a bored manner. "A good player never reveals all of his pieces. Tell me what your point is, Spears."

"I thought the point spoke for itself," insisted the brunet reaper. He adjusted his glasses and sipped his drink before speaking again. "We would like for you to use some of your Paris resources to help us capture this criminal in a timely manner. As stated before, I can offer coin to further enrich your family coffers, if you'll do this."

Ciel looked into his cup of steaming tea. "You're pathetic, you know."

William frowned, his eyes narrowing with annoyance. "Excuse me?"

"First Sutcliff, and now another one," elaborated Ciel. "You've had a full two years to capture this one, and you've failed. You're supposed to be death gods. You should be able to handle this on your own, and yet here you are, begging for scraps from a demon."

Ciel looked up from his teacup and he smirked charmingly. "And I think everyone in this room knows how you feel about demons, Mr. Spears." His blue eyes went blood red then, and the pupils elongated into slits.

"Oh my," Grell said, raising his eyebrows. "I think I'm beginning to like this fellow."

William tore his eyes off Ciel to frown at his companion. "I think one demon was quite enough, for you."

Ciel looked deeply disturbed by the possibility of Grell harboring any interest in him at all. It was almost humorous, in fact. His expression went from complete neutrality to alarm in less than two heartbeats. He quickly schooled his face back into the bland mask, and his eyes went back to normal.

"I'm afraid your bargain isn't sweet enough to draw my attention. I have better things to do, than to get involved in Shinigami affairs."

"I was afraid you might say something like that," announced William calmly, "and I feel it's therefore necessary to remind you that we know your true identity."

Ciel stared at him. "Then it's to be blackmail?"

"Merely a reminder," insisted William. "We've worked together in the past to rid ourselves of a threat. I'm not asking you to get physically involved. All we want is for you to utilize your connections and serve as an informant for us, should you hear of any murderous activity that could be linked to a reaper."

"I see." Ciel smiled at him, and it wasn't a pleasant, warm smile. "You do realize of course, that if you were to inform your department of my whereabouts, it will bring up the question of how you found me and why you didn't report the truth of the matter, when you investigated my death. You have nothing to gain by reporting my true identity."

"I've considered that," agreed William with a nod, "and as I said; I'd rather not resort to such a thing. It would create more overtime and possibly earn me a demotion. However, I trust you have an interest in keeping your estate, staff and loved ones safe from the crown's plotting. Consider this, _Earl Phantomhive_: the longer this investigation drags on, the more people Shinigami Dispatch will send out to investigate. They might have difficulty recognizing you now that you've grown up, but your butler is rather difficult to miss."

William nodded grudgingly at Sebastian who—demon or not—had the sort of face one didn't easily forget. "I don't know what your ultimate plan is, but if you don't want to risk your identity being discovered before you're prepared to reveal it, you may want to reconsider our offer."

He could see the young demon thinking it over. The riveting blue eyes were calculating, and he crossed his legs and tapped a finger against his lower lip thoughtfully. William could easily picture him imagining a chessboard, with all the pieces laid out before him. He was counting on Ciel's calculating nature and fine sense of logic to win him over, and he wasn't disappointed.

"I agree that it would be unfortunate if your organization's incompetence resulted in complications to my plans." Ciel nodded at Sebastian, who somehow seemed to know exactly what he wanted and provided a pad of stationary and a pen from his pocket. The butler handed the items over to William, and then stepped back.

"Write down the information I need to assist you in tracking this rogue," instructed Ciel, "Including what form his death scythe takes, any motivations you may suspect, and all the details you can provide of his past."

While William did as instructed, Grell offered a bit of information that he found particularly interesting. "It seems that old deserter running the funeral home in London knew this fellow, back in the day."

"Undertaker?" Ciel exchanged a glance with his butler. "Did they work together?"

"Mm-hm," agreed Grell with a nod. He sighed and set his tea side, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair. He put his chin in his hand and as William watched sidelong, he winked at Sebastian. "And maybe more."

"We don't know that," corrected William, casting a disapproving look at Grell for his gossip. "Undertaker's personal relationship with our quarry is none of our affair."

Grell shrugged. "It just seems logical to me that two people working so closely together might eventually fall prey to passion." He settled one hand on William's closest knee and he gave it a squeeze. "Wouldn't you agree, Will?"

William set the pen down and put a hand over the one on his knee. He pushed it away with a raised brow. "Even if such a thing occurs, it has nothing to do with the individuals' work relationship. Try to remember that, Sutcliff."

Grell sighed dejectedly, but he perked up like a kitten when he looked up at Sebastian. The butler stood quietly immaculate in his stylish uniform, and as distasteful as William found his nature to be, he couldn't truly blame Grell for his attraction to him.

"Do you see how he treats me, Sebby? I'm starved for affection!" Grell smiled, his green-gold eyes roving over the butler shamelessly. "_You_ know how to please a lady, however. If it weren't for my promise to my cold, handsome William, I would arrange another night of passion with my dashing Romeo."

Ciel's glare wasn't lost on William. Predicting a situation arising soon, the dispatch supervisor offered the pen and stationary to the young lord, sliding it over to him on the coffee table. "There you are. This is everything pertinent to the case, including contact numbers to reach us where we're currently staying, as well as the contact number of our assistants at the London branch. If you'll kindly provide a phone number for us to reach you in exchange, we'll let you know when we change locations and keep you informed on how the investigation is proceeding."

"Of course." Ciel set his drink aside to retrieve the stationary, and he flipped to the next blank page and wrote a number down in fluid script. "I trust now that you have our telephone number as well as our address, there will be no more unannounced visits."

William inclined his head and leaned forward to take the folded piece of paper Ciel slid over to him. "Yes, of course. Do forgive our lack of etiquette. If it weren't so important, I would have taken the time to seek out your telephone number first."

"I understand," Ciel said graciously. He retrieved his tea and took a sip. "Sebastian, show them out."

The butler bowed, falling to one knee with a fluid grace that one couldn't help but admire. He put a gloved hand over his heart, and he lowered his gaze humbly. "Yes, my lord." He straightened back up smoothly, his eyes going to the two Shinigami. "Gentlemen, if you'll come with me."

* * *

Sebastian saw them to the door as instructed, and he offered them a parting bit of advice that had William frowning. "Have a good afternoon, Gentlemen. I feel it's only fair to warn you that if your problems with this rogue Shinigami puts my master in harm's way, there will be consequences."

William turned to look at the butler, and he could see right through that friendly smile on his comely face. "I don't take kindly to threats, Mr. Michaelis; particularly those issued by one of _your_ kind."

"I'm merely informing you of the facts," insisted Sebastian. His eyes flashed and changed, providing a potent reminder of his true nature.

"Oh, leave it be, Will," Grell urged, linking an arm with the brunet's. "Bassy's always been protective of that little brat—although, I can't really call him 'little' anymore, can I? He's still a wee fellow, but he's certainly grown pretty."

"I'm sure he appreciates your observation," Sebastian said cordially, "and yes, I _am_ protective of my master. You would both do well to remember that. Have a pleasant day."

William tugged Grell away before the outrageous redhead could say something and risk angering Michaelis for real. He had no compunctions about fighting the demon if he had to, but a confrontation was best avoided under the shaky agreement they'd made with him and his master. The two of them walked down the winding path of the hill, heading for the front gate.

"You really are too stiff at times, Will," lamented Grell. He looked over his shoulder at the house, where Sebastian still stood at the open doorway. "You'd find people so much easier to deal with, if you would just relax a bit."

William snorted. "Even when those 'people' are demons?" He turned to look up the hill as well, feeling Sebastian's burning gaze on him. He couldn't help the shiver that passed through him, and when Ciel joined the butler on the porch to watch them go, he noticed the way the young man's gaze was fixated on Grell. He wondered if his suspicions were correct, but a moment later, he got confirmation. Ciel's arm went around Sebastian's waist, and his gaze remained on Grell. Those eyes warned that he wouldn't tolerate any future lustful behavior toward his servant.

William found himself smirking. "So, _that's_ how it is. I might have known."

Grell didn't find it so amusing. "Just _look_ at the brazen way he's touching Sebby! Has he no shame? He's still barely more than a child!"

"He's an adult, now," William reminded, urging Grell to turn around and keep walking with him. He briefly put his arm around the redhead to guide him—which sufficiently distracted him from the couple watching them from the house. He almost smirked at Grell's predictability when he snuggled closer and gave him a fawning look.

"I think they make quite the handsome couple," remarked William as he retrieved his pocket watch and prepared to form a portal to their hotel room. "It makes perfect sense, if you consider it. They're both demons, there's a certain level of trust between them, and we both know that Michaelis will never betray Ciel. I can fault him for everything except for his loyalty to that boy."

Grell looked at him with unusual somberness. "That's uncommonly generous of you, Will. I'm accustomed to hearing nothing but contempt from that seductive mouth of yours, when it comes to demonkind."

William hid a smile. "Indeed. Perhaps I've learned to overlook my distaste for their kind, when the situation demands it."

Inwardly though, he was grateful. Sebastian Michaelis was no longer a threat to him, romantically. If he and Ciel were together now, there was no way in heaven _or_ hell that the demon butler would betray him with another. He said none of this to his companion, however. He still needed to get used to the idea of him and Grell as something besides rivals and work associates.

* * *

When they returned to the hotel room, Grell demonstrated that his patience had limits. William tried to go to the telephone to ring up room service for dinner, but Grell intercepted him.

"What are you doing?" demanded William as the redhead put his hands on his shoulders and steadily backed him up against the wall.

"I can't help it, my love," Grell informed him in a breathy voice. "The way you put your arm around me as we were leaving ignited my passions!"

"Remember our bargain, Sutcliff," reminded William as his back hit the damask-papered wall. He shut his eyes impulsively as his companion ran his tongue over his throat, tracing the pulse of his heart.

"I haven't forgotten," assured Grell, his hands sliding over William's shoulders and down his chest. He unbuttoned his blazer and slipped his hands into it, stroking his chest and stomach through the shirt. "I'd like a nibble, though. I've been good. I've behaved, and I've gone without a man's touch since I agreed to your demands."

"I've touched you," objected William. He got distracted when Grell pinched his nipples lightly through his shirt, and his breath caught. The redhead's grinning mouth kissed his lightly.

"Only in brief, teasing moments like earlier, or to push me away," insisted Grell. He loosened William's tie, and he began to flick open the buttons of his dress shirt. "Toss a starving lady a cracker, Will."

Swallowing against the arousal that Grell so easily provoked, William tried to keep his voice even. "What sort of 'cracker' did you have in mind?"

"Hmm." Grell chuckled, his hands drifting lower. He began to undo William's belt—a device that hadn't yet come into fashion in Europe. "I think something phallic shaped would hit the spot."

William swallowed again, his thoughts immediately going to the scene he'd inadvertently witnessed between Grell and Sebastian, the night he'd learned that Ciel Phantomhive wasn't dead, after all. "We agreed there would be no sex, before this investigation is finished."

"Well, _you_ don't need to have sex at all," Reasoned Grell. He plucked open the buttons of William's shirt as he went to his knees, and he stroked his hips and looked up at him. "All you need to do is relax and let me have a taste, Will. Just one little taste, to satisfy me until your conditions are met. I promise, you'll enjoy it as much as I will."

William parted his lips to respond, knowing that no excuse would change the way his trousers were poking out obscenely with his arousal. Grell was blushing as he gazed up at him, looking utterly beautiful to him. What would it be like to feel those lips around him, and to run his fingers through that vivid, soft hair while it happened? He'd privately fantasized about it since he'd seen Grell doing it to Sebastian, but he knew better than to admit as much to Grell. Encouragement had to be sparing, when it came to the passionate redhead.

"If I allow this," he said as sternly as he could manage, "will you leave it be?"

Grell shrugged and grinned at him, running his tongue over his dagger-like teeth. "For a while, yes. Just a taste of you will make me happy, for now."

It was sordid of him and he knew it, but he couldn't resist taking advantage of Grell's need. William gazed down at him and his glasses slipped down his nose a little. He righted them irritably and he took a slow, steadying breath as he watched Grell undo his pants like someone unwrapping a Christmas present. He maintained silence as the redhead finished unfastening the pants and tugged them down a bit, before slipping the waist of his underwear down to expose his erection. It was a relief when his arousal was freed from its confinements, and William hesitantly combed his fingers through Grell's wild, feathered crimson hair.

"Mind the teeth," warned William softly as his companion gripped his shaft with one hand and cupped his ass with the other.

"It's beautiful," enthused Grell dramatically, smiling up at him. "Don't worry, my love. I'm _always_ gentle with this part…unless you want me to get rough."

"I'd rather you didn't." While he was certainly prepared to handle some stinging bites or scratches in other areas of his anatomy, William wasn't particularly eager to feel the points of those teeth digging into his cock.

"Hmm-hmm…I notice you didn't actively forbid it." Grell winked at him. "Does my William have a secret kink?"

William gripped a handful of Grell's hair, and he stared into his heavy-lidded eyes sternly as he gasped in delight. "I'll let you know when and if it's acceptable to use your teeth on me. That's all."

"So forceful," sighed Grell in approval.

He looked at the flushed, glistening tip of William's arousal, and he pushed his gripping hand toward the root of the shaft to expose the head further. He moistened his shapely lips with his pink tongue before looking up at William again and licking the velvety knob of his glans. William told himself when it first became apparent that he was going to get this treatment from Grell that he wouldn't disgrace himself, but the feel of that tongue sliding over the head of his cock made his breath expulse in a rush.

"Oh…god," William blurted helplessly as Grell opened his mouth and started to slide his lips over the length of his erection. Fantasy was pale, compared to the reality of flesh. Aware of how vulnerable he'd sounded, he tried to temper his responses. When Grell's tongue curled around the underside of his shaft, his eyes fluttered shut and his hands trembled in the other reaper's hair. Grell started to suck, and he pulled back to let William's length slide out of his mouth to the tip, before sucking it back in again.

"Grell," panted William helplessly, caught up in sensations he hadn't experienced since god knew when.

He couldn't even recall his last sexual encounter; he'd been so caught up in work and overtime, he never had the opportunity to indulge himself. He heard his companion's muffled moan and he felt the vibrations against his cock. It occurred to him that he was pulling Grell's hair, and he consciously eased up. Grell didn't seem to mind, but William secretly admired the length and color of the vivid mane, and he didn't want to end up tearing chunks out in his enthusiasm.

Grell started to bob his head, taking him in and out with skilled precision and technique. William's concern that a tooth might scrape him vanished quickly as the redhead demonstrated just how good he was at giving oral pleasure. He alternated his techniques, licking up one side and down the other, deep-throating the entire length, and tracing the ridges with his tongue. The warm, wet pleasure of his mouth brought his closer and closer to the brink, and William wasn't even ware of how passionate his cries were becoming.

Reserved, cool and aloof, William T. Spears was at his most vulnerable when Grell Sutcliff's mouth was around his cock. "G-Grell! Unh!"

He didn't realize he was moaning steadily. He didn't notice it when his glasses fell off completely and clattered to the floor. It was all he could do not to grip his companion's hair again. His balls tightened and he tensed up, slapping the wall behind him as he released Grell's hair. His breath came out in quick, short pants as he started to come, and he heard and felt the pleased sound his companion made in his throat as he swallowed his twitching length and took his seed down his throat.

Shuddering, William turned his head to the side and shut his eyes, letting the bliss wash over him. Grell kept swallowing until he was spent, and he rubbed William's bottom soothingly as he pulled back to let him slide out of his mouth. William sensed his gaze on him and he looked down to see that fair, flushed face smiling up at him in satisfaction.

"You taste like Utopia," Grell purred, grinning.

William dared to take one hand off the wall, and he caressed the other Shinigami's blurred features. "That's typically dramatic of you," he sighed, feeling like muscles were turning to water. "You're very, very good at that, Grell."

The redhead perked up at the compliment. "I _knew_ you would like it, William." He gave his softening, still-exposed length a pet, and he climbed back to his feet. He tucked the brunet back into his pants with care, and he gave him a soft, loving kiss on the mouth.

"You're very vocal," observed Grell huskily, "almost as loud as me, in fact. It was nice to melt the ice around you and bring out your passion, Will."

William put his arms around him, and he covertly looked around for his fallen glasses. "Watch where you step," he ordered. It was a convenient excuse to change the subject.

"You should start using a chain," Grell suggested, pointing at his own red-framed glasses.

"It isn't my style," insisted William. He smiled a bit when Grell dropped down again to collect his wayward spectacles for him, but he schooled his expression again when he stood back up. He held still for him while Grell slipped his glasses back on for him, and he let himself go a bit to reach out and caress the other Shinigami's pretty face. Grell turned his head to the side to kiss his palm, gazing at him with long-lashed, enamored eyes.

At once, William felt selfish. He knew how desperate Grell was for intimacy, and he'd taken advantage of that to scratch an itch. He'd made him swear off all other romantic prospects until they finished this investigation and could see where these feelings might lead them. Grell was a very sensual person, and denying him romantic affection was a bit cruel. Even with as long-lived as their kind were, two years without sex was a lot to demand from someone like Grell.

He'd faithfully kept his word, though. He still flirted, but Grell was true to him. It made William want to return the favor and give him pleasure back, but he wanted to have his full wits about him when he did so. He settled for giving his companion a bit of affection for now, stroking his hair and kissing his flushed cheeks.

"Let's get something to eat," he suggested. "We still have a lot of work ahead of us today."

* * *

_Late evening the next day, in London:_

He frowned as he examined the body of the latest murder victim. The soul was gone—either devoured by a demon or collected by a reaper. The lingering traces of Shinigami energy in the wounds told the truth of the tale, and Undertaker moved on to another deep cut, snaking across the dead man's hip to his groin. He saw something wedged deep within the cut over the bladder, and he inserted the forceps to open the cut further, and he secured it with a pair of clamps. He adjudged his human manufactured glasses and he tilted the overhead light to have a better look.

"Now, what have we here?" Dual irises of green and gold peered into the cut, un-obscured by silvery bangs or the shadow of a top hat, for once. Undertaker generally pinned his bangs back when his work required closer examination of corpses, and now was just such a time. He probed the cut with a pair of tweezers, extracting what seemed to be a piece of waxed parchment, folded and stuffed into the cut.

He examined it in the light, narrowing his eyes behind the thick lenses of inferior eyewear. He unfolded the item delicately, using his long, black nails. When he saw the message scrawled inside, he smiled.

"Ah, I see. You took your time."

Looking down at the body, Undertaker considered the matter. He was comfortable with his job, and he didn't like to travel, as a rule. Once in a while, however, the opportunity for an adventure sprang up and he couldn't resist getting out.

"But you always knew that, didn't you?" He held the slip of parchment delicately between two fingernails, and he smiled again. "Very well. This could present other opportunities to me, as well."

He closed up the body and he washed up, before going upstairs to his phone. He rang up Clayworth and informed him of what he'd learned. "Your rogue isn't working alone. He's acquired the help of underlings, here in London. You might want to set some local officers on that. I'll send you what information I can, but I'll be leaving, for a while. Good luck."

After hanging up with his SDS liaison, Undertaker looked around and made some mental notes on what to pack. First thing was first, though. He collected a sign he rarely had to use, and he held it up to the light before hanging it in the window.

_"Closed,"_ it read, _"Until further notice."_

* * *

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 9: Servitude

_**Author's note: **An explicit Ciel/Sebastian scene has been cut from this chapter, to comply with FFnet's censorship policies. You can read the uncensored version of this chapter at Archive of our Own, linked under my profile. Thank you for the reviews so far, everyone!_

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

The dockworkers unloaded the latest Ferry arriving from London, and the supervisor frowned when they deposited a coffin amongst some crates and a trunk. He stared at the dark lacquer box, taking note of the silver trim and the skulls and roses engraved on the lid.

"What's this?"

The blond worker shifted his cap on his head and shrugged, looking down at it. "Coffin, sir."

"I can see that," said the supervisor. "I want to know why it's here." He checked the list and he found a coffin amongst the belongings of someone by the name of T.U. Taker.

"You've got the list, sir," answered the dark-haired worker.

"Hmm, doesn't say anything about it, other than '1 coffin'. How heavy would you lads say it was?"

They exchanged a glance, and the blond answered. "It took some backbone to carry, it did. Maybe it's filled with the owner's belongings?"

"Well, surely it doesn't have a _body_ in it," reasoned the brunet.

"Why not?" asked the blond. "Could be a loved one they wanted to bury elsewhere? People have done that before."

Now all three of them were regarding the coffin with a morbid sort of curiosity. "Well," said the supervisor, "we'd better check to be sure there's not the case. There's no mention of a body on this list, and it's illegal to transport dead matter without the right paperwork."

The blond grimaced. "You mean we've got to open it?"

"Unless you've invented some way to see through wood, yes," answered the supervisor. "Go on, pry it open and let's have a look. The day's not getting any younger."

The brunet reluctantly unhooked his crowbar from his belt and he began to pry the coffin open. It gave without much trouble, and he visibly braced himself as he lifted the lid. They all looked inside curiously, and they stiffened as one.

"Well, that answers that," said the blond as he gazed upon the pale, still body dressed in black robes. Someone had dressed it with a top hat as well, adding a macabre, droll look to the dead man. He had long, silver hair and a thick fringe of it covered his eyes. His face and neck appeared to be scarred, and they assumed it was from an autopsy.

"Looks like we'll have to report this," grumbled the supervisor. "Why do these things always happen on _my_ watch? Close it up, lads."

They started to do just that, but the "corpse" suddenly came to life and reached up toward the blond worker. The pale, long fingers were tipped with jet-black nails suited to a bag lady.

"Help a bloke out?" asked the presumed to be dead man.

The blond didn't stick around to respond. He took off running as fast as he could, crossing himself as he went and spouting prayers to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He took a running leap off the edge of the dock and he landed in the ocean with a splash—perhaps in the hopes that the undead creature couldn't follow him into the water.

The supervisor was coping a little better, until the silver-haired corpse rose out of the coffin effortlessly, without bending his body or climbing to his feet. He stood over six feet tall, his waist-length, pale hair blowing in the breeze.

"S-sir?" stammered the brunet dockworker.

The supervisor passed out, sprawling to the deck wordlessly. The bald spot on his head shone in the setting sun as he lay oblivious to the world around him. The fellow standing in the coffin turned around to face the cringing brunet, displaying perfect white teeth in a broad smile.

"Well, at least _one_ of you has a spine. What's your name, son?"

"M-M-Matthew," sputtered the brunet, snatching his hat off of his head in a respectful gesture. "Who m-might you b-be, sir?"

"Just call me Undertaker. Now, I require a bit of assistance. A carriage should be arriving to pick me up, and I'll need a bit of help with my bed and my trunk. Why don't you go and fish your friend out the sea and get to work, hmm?"

The brunet's legs were quaking. "I…I…"

The Undertaker frowned and sniffed the air. He pushed his bangs aside enough to reveal one green-gold eye and he looked at the dockworker's crotch with a sigh. "It's always hilarious, until they wet themselves."

* * *

"Master, our contacts in Paris claim to have seen a man matching the reaper's description of their elusive fugitive. He's been frequenting opium dens and the black market."

Ciel leaned back in his desk chair and stretched. "I see. I suppose we should get on the phone with Spears and relay the information. I'm almost curious as to what this reaper is looking for on the black market, but I doubt I'd understand his use for it, even if I knew. I wasn't even aware that Shinigami could be effected by opium."

"Shinigami are notoriously unhinged, master," answered Sebastian with a smirk. "And they do feel the effects of narcotics and alcohol, like humans. I will say this for Mr. Spears; he's by far the most stable-minded one I've met."

"That's because he lacks personality," snorted Ciel.

"One could accuse you of the same thing," Sebastian murmured. When Ciel frowned at him, he smiled. "Come now, you too are adept at hiding your feelings. Only when it becomes unbearable, and only when you've reached that elusive breaking point, do you ever fall victim to your emotions."

Ciel raised a brow. "I'm uncertain whether you've just complimented me, or insulted me."

Sebastian bowed. "How is the day's work coming along, my lord?"

Ciel sighed and looked down at the paperwork. "I'm nearly finished." He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head from side to side, trying to loosen the stiff muscles and tendons. "The month's profit figures came in and they're down by three percent. It may not sound like much, but it does add up."

Sebastian circled around behind the desk and he solicitously began to knead Ciel's shoulders and neck with strong, gloved fingers. "Yes, I see. Perhaps the Funtom company should expand further, to stabilize the revenue."

Ciel shook his head, shutting his eyes in pleasure as the massage went on. "That would only stretch our resources thinner. This is about quality control, not quantity. The losses are coming from the toy manufacturing department, so I'll need to have it investigated and corrected."

"A wise decision, master." Sebastian bent over him as Ciel bowed his head and dropped his stylus. He murmured a suggestion in his ear. "Perhaps a break is in order. A bit of relaxation could provide you with a clearer head and a fresh approach."

"Hmm." Ciel's mouth curved into a crooked little smile as he took the lure. He turned his head so that his lips brushed directly against his servant's as he spoke. "What would you suggest I do to relax, Sebastian?"

The butler's thumbs kneaded the back of Ciel's neck at the base of his skull for a moment, before the hands slid down over the shoulders and biceps. "There are things I could suggest, but I require your permission to demonstrate."

Ciel closed his eyes, hopelessly enchanted by Sebastian's seductive actions. He knew that he was a charmer. He'd seen him at work before, getting answers through use of his charisma and looks on more than one occasion. He himself had been more or less immune to it, until lately. Now it only took a glance from the older demon to make Ciel's heart pound. He should at least finish marking and sealing the marketing summaries, before exploring the new status of their relationship further. Instead, he found himself reaching behind to cup the back of Sebastian's head, silently encouraging him closer.

"You have my permission to demonstrate," Ciel whispered.

Sebastian's lips quirked briefly, before covering his. Ciel returned the pressure of his mouth, and he sifted his fingers through Sebastian's fine, black hair. He really had no basis for comparison, but Ciel thought that his butler was probably the world's best kisser. He'd heard that annoying red reaper say so before as well, on more than one occasion, and he was sure Grell had plenty of experience to measure him by. Ciel had also witnessed Sebastian tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue before. He had tried to mimic the skill himself, only to fail miserably.

Sebastian proceeded to remind him of how talented a kisser he was, sliding his tongue in between Ciel's lips to seek out his. It stroked his own tongue with coaxing tact, encouraging Ciel to respond without the need for words. The young man reacted out of instinct, still untried but happily willing to learn the ways of intimacy. He felt Sebastian's hands gliding over his ribcage as they slid down his frock coat, but he was so absorbed in the things his mouth was doing to him that he hardly cared. A shiver passed through him as the sensual touch both tickled and pleased, and Ciel's breath caught when those hands reached his hips.

He forced himself not to react negatively as Sebastian stroked his waist and hips, his hands delving inward toward his pelvis. He was rapidly getting stiff in his pants, and he made a little sound of uncertain distress in his throat when Sebastian's left hand nearly grazed the swell of his groin. The butler's tongue thrust insistently against his, gliding over the surface with determined, patient allure as he caressed Ciel's inner thighs. When they parted reflexively, one of Sebastian's hands settled gently on the bulge of arousal between them, provoking another shudder from Ciel.

He half expected Sebastian to stop kissing him and remind him that he could tell him to stop if he wished, but this time, he just kept going. Ciel couldn't stop his body from tensing as Sebastian began to fondle his groin through his clothes, and he impulsively reached down to place his hand over the bigger demon's. The delightful touching paused, and Sebastian's kiss gentled. Ciel relaxed his hand over his butler's and he stroked the covered knuckles, silently bidding him to continue.

Sebastian resumed, palming the growing length of Ciel's arousal and rubbing it with slow, deliberate motions. The friction felt heavenly, and Ciel's length twitched in reaction to the attention. A spot of moisture began to form on the material where the tip was located, and Ciel kissed Sebastian harder, his breath quickening with pleasure. He was trembling uncontrollably now, but he refused to make him stop. Even with his damnable shame trying to creep back to the surface, Sebastian's touch felt very, very good.

Ciel had been wondering for some time what it would be like to be touched this way, to share his body with someone willingly…someone that would never hurt or disrespect him. Willfully, determinedly, he shoved his fears into the background. He wanted to savor the moment, and experience the pleasures that so many his age had already attained without such crippling shame. Yes, the church taught everyone that lust was a sin and some sexual guilt seemed to be inescapable, but Ciel was quite sure his sense of guilt was out of the ordinary.

"I'm not filthy," Ciel whispered between kisses, not even realizing what he was saying. "I'm not unclean."

"No, you aren't," assured the butler huskily. His hand stroked up and down, stimulating him to gasps. "You are perfect, Ciel. Let me pleasure you."

Hearing his name spoken on those lips again destroyed his reservations. Ciel reached up with his free hand to trace the line of Sebastian's jaw, while combing his fingers through his hair with his other hand. His low, uncertain exclamations of pleasure were muffled against his mouth as Sebastian kissed him again. Sebastian deftly unfastened his pants, and he murmured soothingly against Ciel's lips when the young man tensed.

"I can do this best without a barrier," explained Sebastian patiently, "but I'll stop, if you wish."

Ciel swallowed and shook his head, blushing deeply. "Please…continue."

He felt like an idiot, saying it so formally. Sebastian might as well have been giving him a presentation, with a response like that. The little smile Ciel felt curving the butler's lips as he kissed him again told him that he found the stiff formality more amusing than annoying. Sebastian removed his gloves, and his breath caught when the butler's hand eased into his pants. Ciel willed himself not to recoil from the touch. He could do this…he could allow Sebastian to touch him that way, because he wanted him and he was willing.

* * *

Sebastian soothed his fears as he pleasured him with loving patience, and eventually, Ciel just gave in and went with it. He couldn't stop his cries as he climaxed, and his companion gentled his stroking and his kisses as he recovered. He released his lips to kiss his way along his jaw and neck, and he spoke into his ear with a tone of satisfaction.

"Now, isn't that better? And hardly a drop out of place."

Dazed and sated, Ciel wondered what he meant until he chanced a look down at himself. He hadn't made _too_ much of a mess, and Sebastian had already produced a hanky from God knew where and was wiping him off. Ciel impulsively reached up and back to put an arm around the butler's neck, and he sighed. He was feeling too good to feel shame, just yet. He wanted the moment to last as long as possible.

Sebastian finished his diligent task, and he gently tucked Ciel back in and re-fastened his pants. The young man opened sleepy blue eyes to look up at his face, and he blushed when he saw the way Sebastian's eyes were glowing, and the way he was smirking like a cat.

"You seem pleased with yourself," Ciel observed breathlessly, refusing to allow his discomfort to show in his voice.

"Indeed, I am," agreed Sebastian. He traced Ciel's kiss-swollen lips with the tip of his index finger. "I was able to give my master the pleasure he so richly deserves. I only hope he'll allow me to do so again this evening."

Charmed in spite of himself by the humble admittance, Ciel smiled a little shyly. "I…enjoyed it. You've been…very patient with me."

"We've only just begun to explore this sort of dynamic," reasoned Sebastian calmly, the glow fading from his eyes. "And what kind of lover would I be, to force the petals of this rose to open before they're ready to? Our joining will be all the sweeter if I tend you with love, rather than greed."

"Love?" Ciel found the word strange, coming from Sebastian. He again remembered asking him if demons _could_ love, years ago.

"I explained to you already," murmured the butler, kissing Ciel's lips briefly, "we can love just as passionately as humans, if we allow ourselves to. We demons simply tend to be choosier about whom we give our hearts to. Humans love recklessly, by comparison."

The realization that Sebastian had basically just declared his love for him shook the young man a bit, but they had both expressed affection for each other so many times, by now. It was a little frightening, but Ciel admitted to himself that he loved Sebastian, too. He refused to get sappy about it, though. He wasn't ready to make a romantic declaration, just yet.

"Perhaps soon, you can show me how to please you back," Ciel said, forcing his shyness to the background. "You've earned the reward."

Sebastian smiled at him, and he retrieved his gloves and straightened up. "My master is most generous. Well, now that I've relieved your tension, I feel I should impart other news to you."

Ciel looked up at him with a confused frown, and he didn't even question what happened to the hanky he'd used to clean him up with. "What news?"

"There was a disturbance at the port of Antwerp, last evening. Evidently a shipment arrived on a ferry with strange contents."

Ciel sighed and raised a brow. He knew his relaxation wouldn't last for long. "What sort of 'strange contents'? Stop being so obtuse."

"A body, my lord," answered the butler, "or so it seemed, to the dock workers."

Ciel shrugged. "Someone's relative, being brought here for burial, I suppose. How is this news relevant to me?"

"As you know, certain paperwork is required to transport the dead between countries, and the shipment arrived with none of that. According to our informants, the 'body' in question woke up when the dockworkers opened the coffin to examine it. It was described as a male of Anglo-Saxon heritage with long silver hair. He was dressed in black garments and wore a top hat. It gave the workers quite a scare, apparently. The supervisor suffered a minor heart attack and one of the young men nearly drowned himself in the surf, evidently forgetting he didn't know how to swim when he jumped into the water."

Ciel felt a chill of recognition. "Undertaker."

Sebastian nodded. "So it would seem, master."

"What on earth is _he_ doing here?" Ciel tapped his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. "He only leaves his shop when he stands to gain something by doing so."

"Yes, he's quite the hermit," agreed Sebastian, "and we both know how resourceful Undertaker can be. He has almost as many informants as we do, and he still retains the gift of Shinigami foresight."

Ciel's troubled frown deepened. "Where was he reported to be heading, when he left the docks?"

"Paris."

Ciel looked up at him again, and the tap of his fingertips ceased. Undertaker already knew the truth of what he was. The fake death announcement wouldn't have made him so much as blink. "We haven't heard from him in some time," murmured Ciel, "and those two other reapers have us involved in their manhunt, now. Perhaps Undertaker's presence in France is related to that. He could be coming here for me."

"It _is_ a possibility, my lord," agreed Sebastian. "Though I sincerely doubt he means you any harm. Morbid jokes aside, the Undertaker was always quite fond of you and your family, after all."

"Yes," concurred Ciel. "As fond as someone like that _can_ be of anyone. It leaves me to wonder if Grell and William are aware of his arrival, or if he's acting on his own. I expect we may receive a visit from him, if you're correct about his identity."

"Probably." Sebastian nodded. "Though unlike his still-active reaper companions, he should already have our contact number. I presume he'll call before coming here to visit directly."

"Unless he lost it," sighed Ciel with a smirk. "Undertaker isn't always known for his organizational skills."

"True, he tends to play the role of the absent-minded retiree, more often than not, but I think we've both learned not to underestimate him."

"Right." Ciel looked down at his remaining paperwork. "Why did you wait until now, to inform me of this?"

Sebastian smiled politely at him. "I wanted you to be more relaxed, when you received the news. You were tense enough as it was, my lord."

Ciel's brows went up. "So _that's _why you…did what you did?"

"No, that was spontaneous," admitted the butler, lowering his gaze contritely. "I honestly had no intention of pleasuring you _that_ way, when I first approached. I meant only to massage your shoulders, before giving you the potentially stressful news concerning the Undertaker."

Ciel blushed predictably, but a smirk curved his lips. "So you surprised yourself as much as you surprised me, is that it?"

Sebastian _almost_ looked bashful, but that was one expression the demon butler simply wasn't capable of pulling off convincingly. His crooked, smug little grin spoiled the image, and his eyes briefly glowed beneath the fringe of his lashes. "What can I say, my lord? You're quite…irresistible."

Ciel felt an impending laugh trying to make its way to the surface, and he coughed into his hand. "Is that so? Well, I suppose I need to remind you that while you're on the clock as my butler, you should strive to maintain a more professional mannerism."

"My young master didn't object when—"

"I _know_ that," snapped Ciel, cursing his face for blushing so easily. "I'm just offering a reminder. An occasional lapse in the privacy of a closed room is…fine. Just don't allow our personal relationship interfere with your work in public. I trust you to behave appropriately, Sebastian."

The butler bowed gracefully at the waist as he sank to one knee, placing a hand over his heart. "Yes, my lord." He looked up at Ciel and a flash of mischief lit his eyes. "How would master prefer I respond, the next time he embraces me in public?"

At the reminder of the way Ciel had purposely put his arm around Sebastian's waist the other day as a subtle message to Grell, Ciel grimaced. That possessive little gesture wasn't exactly appropriate of him. Caught by his own hypocrisy, Ciel struggled for a response. "Um…"

"Perhaps," suggested Sebastian with a quiet smile, "master would like to draw up a list of what he feels can be categorized as 'inappropriate' behavior. Forgive this lowly servant for suffering some confusion over the matter."

Ciel snorted. "You've developed quite a sharp taste for sarcasm. Fine, I admit I was the one who acted inappropriately, the other day. It won't happen again. Not in public, at least."

Sebastian bowed his head again, before getting to his feet. "As you wish. Would you like some more tea?"

"Yes. And Sebastian, make some calls to have Undertaker watched, if possible. I'd like to know what he's doing here, if he doesn't attempt to contact us."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"Grell, get the door!"

There was no answer from the redhead, and William swore. He draped the towel he'd been using to dry his hair around his neck and he slipped into his bathrobe. They'd rented adjoining suites, but Grell insisted on sleeping in his bed with him now, and William agreed to it. Unfortunately, the redhead slept like the dead. William put his glasses on and he yanked the bathroom door open to find his companion still bundled up in the blankets. The top of his head was the only part of him visible, and William caught himself smiling a little as he observed Grell's face from the nose up. He was rather cute when he was asleep.

Three more knocks sounded on their door, evenly spaced and forceful enough to make the door vibrate with each blow. Suddenly wary, William picked up his scythe, lying propped beside the bed.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Mmunh?" Grell finally stirred, and William poked him with his scythe and put a finger to his lips meaningfully. Grell rubbed his side through the sheets with a sullen pout, but he seemed to catch on. He quietly rolled over to reach for his death scythe and glasses as well, and he got to his knees on the bedding and nodded at William once he was ready.

For a moment, the brunet Shinigami was distracted by the sight of Grell sitting like that, with his thin linen nightshirt bunched up around his pale, smooth thighs. He had ridiculously pretty legs for a man, and he'd demonstrated more than once that he could wear lingerie as well as any woman. William never would have imagined himself finding a man in lacy undergarments appealing, but Grell had a way of defying the norm and making anything look good. If only he'd curb that wild tongue of his and stop—

_~KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.~_

"Will, are you going to answer it or not?" Grell pressed in a whisper—thankfully not seeming to notice William's staring.

William readied his scythe in one hand while unlocking the door with the other. He left the chain on, well aware that it was a flimsy protection against anything supernatural. He pulled the door open wide enough to peek outside and he nearly dropped his scythe when he saw who was waiting in the hallway.

William hastily shut the door to slide the chain back, while Grell looked on with impatient curiosity. "Well?" pressed the redhead crankily, "who the hell _is_ it? I'm not impressed with having my beauty sleep interrupted, William!"

"Go make yourself decent," William ordered sternly as he twisted the doorknob again. "We have company."

Grell parted his lips to say something snarky, by the expression on his face. His words died on his shapely lips as the door opened to admit a tall Shinigami with silver hair down to his hips, a broad grin and a black top hat.

"Oh! Undertaker." Grell sounded like he couldn't decide if he was pleased or not. It was well known that he had mixed feelings of contempt and awe for the elder reaper. He scrambled out of bed and dashed into the bathroom, pulling his shirt down over his bare legs in a hilariously out-of-place gesture of modesty. "Just a minute! You can't see me like this!"

William sighed as the bathroom door slammed. He looked up at the taller man waiting in the hallway, and he gave him a polite smile. "Sir, won't you please come in?"

"Don't mind if I do." Undertaker stepped inside, and William waited until he was through the door before shutting and locking it again. "I can't stay for long. I have a coach waiting with my belongings. I've still got to set up accommodation for myself while I'm here." It was difficult to say with that hair covering his eyes, but William felt like Undertaker was looking him up and down.

"Please excuse my appearance," apologized William, self-consciously tugging the belt of his bathrobe tighter. "I had just come out from a bath, when you came calling. Pardon my asking, but what brings you to Paris?"

Undertaker shrugged, and he took a seat on the bed. He paused, frowned and looked down at the mattress before bouncing up and down a bit on it, a grin spreading over his lips once more. "Springy."

"Yes, sir," agreed William, resisting a smile at the ancient reaper's antics. He tended to forget how out of touch Undertaker was with the rest of the world, these days. "About my question, if you please?"

"Ah, that." Undertaker reached into a pocket and withdrew a pouch. He sighed as he unwrapped it to reveal two of his bone-shaped snacks, plus a half-eaten one. "I'm nearly out of biscuits. I'll need to gain access to a kitchen to make more of my special recipe."

"You could make them here," suggested William hastily. "I'm sure I can speak to the hotel manager about it. Now, would you mind telling me why you're here?"

"My, you're like a dog with a bone." Undertaker snickered under his breath. "I'm here by invitation, to answer your question."

"Invitation?" The answer only served to perplex William further. "Whose invitation?"

"William!" The bathroom door cracked open and Grell peaked out. "I left my clothes on the chair. Would you bring them to me?"

William sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache trying to come on. "Just a moment." He turned to his guest and gave a respectful nod. "Pardon me."

William went over to the armchair in the corner of the room and he collected the folded garments waiting there, along with Grell's favorite red coat. He brought them to the bathroom and he flushed when the impulsive redhead gave him a quick smooch on the lips before he could withdraw.

"Thanks, handsome." Grell shut the door again, leaving William standing there, still in his bathrobe.

Embarrassed by his companion's behavior as well as his slovenly state of dress, William sighed and waited for his cheeks to cool. He turned around and walked to the other side of the room again to speak with Undertaker—who was again absorbed in the wonders of the modern mattress. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, bouncing up and down. William half-expected the eccentric reaper to climb onto the bed and begin jumping on it like a child, and his gaze went to the high heels of the leather boots, visible beneath the hem of Undertaker's garments. He shuddered to think of the damages bill he'd end up paying for, if he let the elder Shinigami get carried away with his playing.

"Please feel free to tell me it's none of my business," William said, "but how did you find us?"

Undertaker paused in his bouncing, and he looked up at the robed brunet with an ironic smirk. "It wasn't so difficult, Mr. Spears. I asked your supervisor where you might be staying during your investigation, and he told me."

"I see." Feeling stupid, William tried to put on a casual air. It was impossible in his current state of dress, however. It didn't help that he felt the Undertaker's mysterious, burning gaze on him, even if he couldn't see his eyes underneath the fringe of hair covering them. "We weren't informed you were coming. Tell me what my companion and I can do for you, sir."

"I would like you to share any information you can give me concerning the recent activity and presumed whereabouts of Mr. Fischer. I presume Mr. Clayworth has been in touch with you to inform you that there's more than one rogue involved in this?"

"Yes, he did," admitted William. "He didn't mention you traveling here, however."

Undertaker shrugged. "I told him I just wanted contact information, in case I run across anything else that could be immediately helpful to you fellows. I didn't specify where I was going when I closed up shop." He smiled again.

"Oh." William's heart skipped a beat, and he wished he could banish his crush on this reaper. "Then you've decided to come and assist us personally?"

"Haven't decided yet." Undertaker said. "I don't usually like to get mixed up in Shinigami power struggles, these days."

"With all due respect sir, this isn't a power struggle," corrected William. "This is a reaper slipping off the tracks and taking someone else with him. It happens sometimes, with our kind. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of that."

"No, you don't need to remind me," agreed Undertaker, suddenly more sober than usual. "I remember well what this job can do to a person's mental and emotional state, Mr. Spears. You're very fortunate that your companion in there submitted to Dispatch authorities and came peacefully for rehabilitation." He turned his head and nodded at the bathroom door, where Grell was grooming himself for the day.

"Yes," agreed William, his gaze going to the door as well. "I suppose I was. So many reapers find they can't cope with the demands of our occupation, and they either defect or commit suicide. I myself…"

He trailed off uncomfortably, realizing that Undertaker was listening carefully to every word he said. "I…I'm sorry. I wasn't talking about you specifically, when I said that some can't cope."

Undertaker grinned and waved it away. "I never sent in a letter detailing my choice to leave the Society. People are free to speculate all they like; I don't mind. Now, what were you about to say about yourself, William?"

Unnerved by the quiet intensity he was sensing from the older reaper, William shrugged and walked over to the window. "My first time out was with Grell. I remember how excited I was to prove myself, even though I was always careful not to put more effort in than necessary. I didn't want to burn out like other reapers I'd heard about, you understand."

Undertaker nodded. "I do. Go on."

Wondering why the Undertaker even cared, William tried to gather his thoughts. He knew that Undertaker didn't care much for him, because he tended to suck up to him. He couldn't seem to help himself, on that front. He knew it amused him to see how hard he tried to gain his approval. Still, the man was showing an interest in him now for whatever reason, and Will admired him far too much to deny his request. The words came out effortlessly, with hardly a conscious thought on his part.

"Grell was so passionate," he recalled, smiling just a little as he gazed out the window at the morning Paris skyline. "It annoyed me. His flame burned so bright, while I kept mine carefully smothered, to keep it from consuming me. I knew when I met him that Sutcliff and I would clash. We're completely different, he and I. He puts everything into his work, while I give only what is needed to get the job done. Our first assignment was a young writer. We argued over whether to reap his soul or allow him to live. We even fought about it. Eventually, it was decided that we would reap him and put his records in the vault with the rest, but I got distracted. The cinematic records began to overwhelm me, but then Grell intervened."

William turned from the window to cast a quick glance at the bathroom door. "I never completely forgave him for that. I felt obligated, from that day forward. This assignment we're on now is different. I owe nothing to this rogue. I understand he's an old associate of yours, but I think you should be aware that Grell and I are prepared to kill him, if he can't be brought in alive."

Undertaker chuckled under his breath. "I wish you all the best of luck with that."

Realizing he'd been babbling, William reminded himself how the conversation arrived where it was now. "Back to the previous topic, may I ask why you came to us, if you aren't here to ally with us?"

"I want to tag along and see what happens," answered Undertaker. "It's been a long time since Dedrich and I last spoke, but we go back further than most of you in the Society now could possibly imagine. Tell me William; when you learned that Mr. Sutcliff had slipped his leash, what was your first reaction?"

William impulsively adjusted his glasses with his scythe, uncomfortable with the question. "I don't understand the question."

"I think you do." Undertaker smiled at him, but this time, there was little humor in it. "You knew you would need to hunt him down and bring him in. I wonder what you would have done, if you'd been forced to choose between Grell's life and your duty to the Department."

Understanding where this was going, William looked away. "This isn't the same. I was confident that Grell could be reasoned with. It takes the right touch, with him. Fischer went missing nearly two-hundred years ago, and all we know about him is that he had a reputation almost as impressive as yours."

Undertaker tapped his temple with a long-nailed finger. "You're a sharp one, Spears. I can't rightly argue with your logic, but I think you understand why I haven't chosen a side…at least, not yet."

William nodded. "I think I do, yes."

Grell came out of the bathroom then, looking fresh as a bloom. He combed his long, damp hair and he smiled as he approached the bed and boldly took a seat beside the Undertaker. "My ears are burning. Oh Will, it was so romantic to hear you confess how you care for me!"

"Stop being so dramatic," ordered William. "So then, I suppose you overheard the entire conversation and thus don't need to be briefed."

Grell scooted a little closer to Undertaker and he winked. "Mm-hmm. I heard enough to understand, and I have a wonderful idea. Why don't we let the Undertaker stay in our adjoining suite, while he's here? I'm not using it, after all."

William found the idea both appealing and alarming, at the same time. "Naturally, I would love to offer hospitality to our esteemed visitor, but this could create a conflict of interests. If we corner the criminal and it comes to a fight to the death—"

"Oh, William," admonished Grell, "he's already intervened on our behalf once, remember? I don't think Undertaker will turn on us."

"Stop batting your eyelashes at him," muttered William, "you look like a fool!"

Undertaker laughed. "I'm rather enjoying it, actually."

Trying to curb a broad range of interesting, conflicting feelings, William tried to bring the conversation back under control. "Undertaker, you must understand that given your expressed ambiguity on the situation, I have some concerns."

The funeral director nodded. "Of course, I do. Your companion is right, though. I don't plan to interfere with your duty."

"You fought your old partner on the dock that day," reminded William. "Did he recognize you?"

"I think so, by the end," sighed Undertaker. "That may be why he chose to run away…or else he just didn't want to miss his ship. Either way, my intention wasn't to kill him, even before I started to recognize him. That was your task, not mine."

"So you're still taking a neutral stance on this?" Grell asked.

Undertaker nodded. "I'm not really on anyone's 'side', but I have questions of my own for the subject of your investigation. I'll help you track him down, in exchange for the opportunity to have a chat with him. I may even be able to affect an amicable solution to this whole thing."

William exchanged an interested look with Grell, but he was still wary. He looked at the Undertaker again, putting his respect for the man on the back burner, in the interest of frank discussion. Undertaker had already proven what a valuable ally he could be when things went sour. He'd practically saved Grell's life, in fact. "And you give me your word that you won't try to help him escape or otherwise foil our attempts to bring him in?"

"I swear," answered the Undertaker readily. "As I said, I have no interest in the internal struggles of the Shinigami society. I'm here for personal reasons, and beyond tracking him down and talking to him, it's none of my affair."

"Well, I think it's a reasonable deal," Grell pressed. "Let him stay here with us, Will. There's plenty of room."

William could have asked Grell why he was so determined to have the Undertaker sleeping in the suite next to them, after the way the redhead had shielded him when he thought Undertaker was being a bit too aggressive. It was Grell, though. William had long since given up on ever completely understanding his motivations.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't harm anything. What do you think, Undertaker?"

The funeral director reached into his robes to procure his human manufactured glasses, and he lifted his bangs after putting them on to look around at his surroundings. "Fancy. I don't much care for that. I like the bed, though." He bounced a little on the mattress, making Grell grin sharply at him. "Well, I _did _have other arrangements planned."

"Oh? For where?" William felt unreasonably disappointed, and he gave himself a mental nudge for it. He'd made Grell swear off Sebastian Michaelis to prove his devotion to him. How utterly promiscuous of him, to entertain fantasies about the Undertaker after demanding such a thing.

"The central graveyard," answered the elder reaper, startling both of them enough to make them blink. "Perhaps in a crypt. I thought it would make me feel right at home."

"Oh, Will…we can't let him sleep in a smelly old crypt!" Grell looked horrified by the very idea. "Undertaker, you _must_ stay here with us. We insist!"

William looked at Grell once more with barely veiled confusion, but he nodded in agreement. "I understand you're comfortable in…settings like that," he said to their silver-haired guest, "but I agree with Mr. Sutcliff. You won't find a clean place to sleep in the cemetery. We aren't using the adjoining suite, and you're assisting us. Please, have the bellhop bring your luggage in from the carriage and stay here with us, Undertaker."

The older Shinigami considered it, tapping his fingernails together. "Hmm…might be a nice change. Very well, let's give it a try."

"Fabulous," enthused Grell. "And you can tell us all about your past with this reaper we're trying to catch! The more we know about him, the better our chances."

Undertaker paused in the action of standing up, and he regarded Grell. "Some things are best left buried, Mr. Sutcliff."

"We understand your reluctance," William assured politely, "but my companion makes a good point. As we talked about earlier, I knew how to approach Grell when he strayed, and that was why I was able to bring him in without a terrible fuss. If you want to see this resolved without any reapers dying in the process, perhaps you could consider giving us something that may help us better understand Mr. Fischer."

"Hmm. Interesting proposition." Undertaker reached up and scratched his scalp under his hat. "I'll tell you what. I'll agree to your terms on two conditions. The first condition is that we've got to find a pub."

"A pub?" repeated William, his gaze flicking to the clock on the mantle. "Isn't it a bit early for drinking?"

Undertaker shrugged. "It's noon somewhere. My cherished memories of the Dark Ages are best shared over a drink…or three. I haven't been out on the town in years—let alone in the company of fellow reapers."

"I'm not sure we'll find a pub open at this time of day," William said doubtfully.

Grell snorted. "It's Paris, William. There's _always_ somewhere to go for a drink. In fact, I believe there's a place just around the corner that might fit the bill." His gaze roved over the Undertaker. "Unfortunately, I'm fairly certain they employ a dress code. I doubt they'd let you in like that."

"Not a worry," assured Undertaker. "Contrary to popular belief, I do own other clothing. I rarely get the chance to _wear_ it, though." He chuckled, and he tilted his head up to address William. "I can get cleaned up and presentable within the hour."

William wondered what sort of clothes Undertaker intended to change into, but he wasn't about to voice his concerns over outdated fashion sense aloud. Grell's clothing was loud enough to overpower whatever old-fashioned attire Undertaker put on. "And what is the second condition?"

Undertaker stood up, and William found himself looking up at the taller Shinigami as he loomed over him. Grell impulsively started to get up as well, his flirty behavior vanishing as the unpredictable funeral director leaned in close to William. The brunet stayed perfectly still, fascinated by the scent of incense and earth he detected on the Undertaker. He could see the flash of his eyes beneath the pale bangs as the Undertaker traced the right lens of his glasses with a fingernail. It was almost a lover's caress, and William swallowed.

"Take your collars off for the day," murmured Undertaker.

Completely confused, William misunderstood. "I suppose we could go without wearing ties, if you insist."

Undertaker started to grin, and he chuckled under his breath and shook his head. His hair swayed with the motion, catching the morning light in a way that reminded William of the silver thread of spider webs. It was ironic that he couldn't stand to let his own hair to get longer than collar-length, when Grell and Undertaker's lustrous manes fascinated him to no end.

"I'm not talking about cloth adornments, William," Undertaker explained. Hearing his name on his lips caused a shiver to run through the brunet. "I'm talking about the mark of your servitude." He tapped the glasses lightly. "The Dispatch Society tells you to jump, and you ask how high."

"Now just a moment," protested William, flushing.

"I understand," Undertaker assured him, his grin fading slightly. "I was once very much like you, Mr. Spears. I may understand you better than any creature on this side of existence, whether you believe it or not."

"I always presumed you didn't care much for me," dared William.

"I don't care for your rigid propriety," explained the elder death god with a smile. "And I'm hoping to remedy that. By the looks of things, I don't think your companion would object."

Grell shook his head. "Not a chance. Will needs to loosen up. I'm not keen on your suggestion about the glasses, however. Neither of us have any intention of deserting, Undertaker."

"I wasn't asking you to set them aside indefinitely," corrected the Undertaker. "By all means, keep them on your person—whether that means dangling by the neck or tucked into a pocket. When I share the events of my past with you, I want us all to see one another with _our own_ eyes."

"Well, we aren't going to be seeing much of anything," Grell pointed out, "Unless we're in each other's faces, the whole time." He blew a kiss to both of them. "Not that I mind close contact, with two such gorgeous men."

"I'm not really comfortable removing my glasses for any reason beyond bathing or sleeping," William said uncertainly.

"Of course you aren't," answered Undertaker. "They're practically an extension of you, by now. If you think my request is unreasonable, we can just do without the whole affair."

William sighed. He could smell some kind of aromatic herb on Undertaker's breath, and it was distracting him. Not usually one for uncertainty, he looked to Grell. "What's your opinion on this, Sutcliff?"

Grell spread his hands. "Well, it won't kill us to go without our glasses on our faces for a couple of hours, Will. If it will convince the old man to spin a yarn or two for us, I think we should do it."

Unsurprised by his attitude, William nodded. They did need information about this renegade that only Undertaker could provide, after all. There was also the private thrill of having a few pints with a living legend, too.

"Very well. Undertaker, please have your things brought to the adjoining suite and freshen up as needed. Grell, give him your key."

The redhead relinquished the item without question, looking as though he'd just won a million pounds. It gave William pause and he wondered what conniving thing was going through Grell's mind, this time.

* * *

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 10: By the seat of their pants

**_Author's note: _**_This chapter ended up becoming more of a humorous interlude than expected. I originally intended to get down to serious business by the end of it, but it took a different turn. Please enjoy the silliness before things get serious again. :-)_

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"He brought a coffin with him."

Grell looked up from the hand-held mirror, pausing in his freshening up. "Hmm?"

William looked comically bemused. "Undertaker. The bellhops just finished carrying a coffin into his suite."

Grell shrugged and snorted. "Don't act so surprised. The man hardly _ever_ gets out and that coffin is probably his bed. He just brought a comfort from home with him."

"But there's a bed in his suite," insisted William. "A _real_ one, with pillows and a mattress and a comforter."

"And he'll probably use it," assured Grell, "but he came here expecting to sleep in a crypt. What do you want him to do, toss the coffin out for firewood?"

"You're being unusually supportive of his quirks," observed William, "considering you tend to refer to him as 'creepy'."

"Well, he's grown on me," insisted Grell. He procured his lip-gloss and he applied it evenly, smoothing it over his lips with practiced care to create a soft glisten that would draw attention to his mouth. "Not to mention, he's utterly gorgeous underneath all that hair. You knew that already, though. You've been enamored with him for as long as I've known you."

"Don't be ridiculous." William averted his eyes, making the redhead grin knowingly at him through the mirror's reflection. "You didn't even know who he was, until I told you. How could you possibly come to such a conclusion?"

"I didn't know Undertaker was your precious, legendary hero at first," admitted Grell, "but I knew you worshipped the reaper that sent Marie Antoinette to hell. You tore that page out of the Shinigami history book from the library—"

"I did _no_ such thing!"

"The hell you didn't," snapped Grell. "I remember catching you pressing it between the pages of your guidance book. You'd stare at that picture of him every night before lights out, when we were training. Go ahead; try to deny it. There's nothing wrong with my memory, Will."

The brunet faltered, lowering his gaze. "I'd actually forgotten about that. I can't believe you remember it."

"Mm-hm. It's hard to forget when your man keeps staring at a picture of someone else."

"I wasn't 'your man' then," William reminded.

Grell shrugged and smiled, setting the mirror on the bed. He approached William and he draped his arms around his neck. "But you are now, aren't you?" He leaned in to blow in the brunet's ear, drawing a shiver from him. He smiled as William's arms went around his waist. "Aren't you?" he pressed, rubbing his cheek against his.

"Yes," agreed William. "Heaven help me for that, too."

Grell chuckled, pressing his body flush against the slightly taller Shinigami's. "It took you long enough to admit it."

"So this is about jealousy?" asked William, pulling back to look at him.

Grell's smile widened. "You still have a lot to learn about me, Spears." He slid one hand down, straightening William's tie before running his palm over his chest and abdomen. "Do you remember telling me that you might be willing to share me with another Shinigami?"

William frowned in thought. "No, I don't…oh, wait. Are you talking about when I made you swear not to have further relations with that demon?"

"That's right," confirmed Grell with a nod. He traced patterns over his companion's chest with the fingertips of one hand, while caressing the nape of his neck with the other. "Was that just a slip of the tongue, or do you think you could actually be sincere about that…with the right Shinigami?"

William seemed to be catching on, and Grell quickly stopped caressing his chest to place his fingers over that sexy mouth to shush the outrage he could sense preparing to burst from it. "Before you go off on a tangent, you should know that I'm willing to share you, too. With the _right Shinigami_, of course."

William stared at him. "Just what are you implying?"

The redhead smirked. "I think you know." He walked his fingertips down William's stomach, gazing into his eyes. "I think of you two together, and I just shiver."

"Is this some attempt to trick me into retracting our agreement concerning Michaelis?"

Grell sighed and poked him, making him grunt. "Good heavens, you can be thick. No. Sebby is with his little brat now, anyway. I'm trying to give you something nice, Will. I'm telling you that if something should…ahem…arise…between you and the Undertaker, feel free to pursue it. The only thing better than imagining the two of you together is imagining myself in the middle of it."

"I sincerely doubt he would be interested in a three-way romance with us," muttered William in a hushed tone, casting a wary look at the door to the adjoining suite. "And while I appreciate the…er…gesture, I don't believe he's interested in me."

"I wouldn't make the offer, if I thought you didn't have a crack at him." Grell smiled again, and he dropped his caressing hand lower, while sliding the fingers of his other hand through William's dark hair. "Your problem is that you're terrible at flirting. Maybe I could give you some tips."

"I'd rather not throw myself at him," William said dryly, "but thanks, all the same."

Grell cupped him between the legs, making him jump a little. "You don't have the temperament to be as forward as I am. I was going to suggest a more subtle approach, Will."

Flushing now, William reached down to disengage Grell's hand from his crotch. "Not now, Grell. Stop fooling around with this threesome nonsense, too. Sometimes fantasies are best left in the mind."

Grell sighed, reluctantly allowing him to pull his hand away. "Why do I always fall for the prudes, or the ones beyond my reach?"

There was a knock from the adjoining suite door, and William stepped away from Grell before going to unlock it. When he opened it to admit the Undertaker, Grell's eyes nearly bugged out. The legendary reaper was dressed in a three-piece, black pinstripe suit with a wine colored tie and a black rose tucked into the breast pocket. His thick silver hair was gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and for once, his bangs were parted to reveal his face. The jewelry adorning his ears glinted when the light struck it, and he grinned at the two ogling, younger reapers.

"I don't know what's funnier," Undertaker announced, "the look on that poor chap's face when I came up out of the coffin at the docks, or the looks on your faces now."

He started to snicker, and his two companions just stared stupidly. He covered his mouth with a hand and they could see that while he'd cleaned up his appearance insofar as clothes and hair, he'd chosen to skip a manicure. His nails were still just as long and black as before. Grell supposed that wasn't very important. As long as Undertaker didn't try to use those nails to stir cocktails, they ought to be just fine.

"You look…" William said slowly, sounding like a dull-witted idiot.

"Dapper," provided Grell with a nod when he saw the hopelessly smitten look on his companion's handsome face. "Very classy, and gorgeous. In fact, I feel a case of the vapors coming on." He fanned himself with one hand, only half-kidding.

Undertaker's chuckling died off, but his grin remained. He looked at the two of them as he gave a courtly little bow, his eyes bright with amusement. "They did once call me the 'gentleman reaper', after all. Now, about the second part of our bargain; take those collars off."

Grell's mind instantly went to a filthy place at the mention of collars, and he blushed and grinned dreamily at his two companions, picturing them all chained together and naked. He didn't notice when William obligingly removed his glasses, and he jumped when the brunet squinted at him and called his name.

"Sutcliff. The glasses."

Shaken from his spontaneous daydream of bondage, Grell reached up dumbly to touch his glasses. William arched a brow. "We're to take them off, for this outing. Remember?"

"Oh! Oh, yes." Grell pulled the eyewear off of his face and he closed the glasses, leaving them to rest against his chest on their chain. "My mind was somewhere else."

"So I noticed," answered William. He turned to the Undertaker. "We have some lower rank people in the city now, carrying on the investigation. Even so, Sutcliff and I will need to get some work done by the end of the day, so I hope you understand we can't spend the entire afternoon in the pub."

"How much time we spend in the pub depends on how many tales you want me to tell," explained Undertaker, "I wouldn't worry overly if I were you, Mr. Spears. Even if Mr. Fischer does strike again tonight, chances are he'll be long gone before any of you can get there. Your timing was fortunate, that night at the docks of London."

Grell put a hand over his stomach and grimaced with remembered pain. "Hmph…I wouldn't choose the word 'fortunate'."

"We'll close in on him eventually," said William stubbornly. "We have additional resources here in Paris that we've begun to tap into. We have eyes everywhere in this city, thanks to an arrangement we've recently made."

Undertaker grinned at him. "That 'arrangement' wouldn't happen to be with a certain young demon that used to go by the name of Phantomhive, would it?"

Grell and William exchanged a look. "Well, now that you mention it," said the redhead uncomfortably.

"You aren't wrong," said William with a nod, "but we don't discuss our associate's past, or his present situation. It's a business arrangement only, and part of that arrangement includes our silence on his personal status."

"Ah, of course." Undertaker nodded. "I'll have to look him up for a visit, while I'm in town. Well, shall we? Wine doesn't drink itself, you know."

* * *

"Would you watch where you're _going_?" William snapped irritably when Grell stepped on his heels for the third time. He turned around to face the flustered redhead.

"It isn't my fault," insisted Grell. "You stopped so abruptly!"

"There was a carriage passing by," informed the brunet. "If I hadn't stopped, I would have gotten run over."

"It wouldn't have killed you."

"No, but it would have been rather uncomfortable, and it might have ruined my suit." William unconsciously smoothed his hands over his blazer.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" demanded Grell petulantly. "I can't see further than 60 centimeters!"

"Neither can I," reminded William tightly, "but I'm not stepping on you every half block, now am I?"

"Children," called the Undertaker, up ahead of them. He came to a stop, and he looked over his shoulder at them. "Stop bickering, or no cookies for you. According to Mr. Sutcliff, we're nearly there. Don't spoil my fun."

The younger Shinigami lapsed into silence, and Undertaker faced front again. A cool breeze wafted through the street, and it blew aside the long, silver ponytail hanging down Undertaker's back. Grell hastily lifted his glasses to his eyes for a better look as the moment afforded a perfect view of Undertaker's ass.

"What are you doing?" William muttered between his teeth, though even with his vision impaired, he couldn't help but admire the blurred glimpse of trouser-covered derriere, as well.

"William, if you won't do it, I will," Grell informed him with a grin. He sighed when the hair fell back into place, hiding the view again. He let his glasses drop back to his chest.

"Take your mind out of the gutter," lectured William softly, "and show some respect."

"I _am_ respecting him," insisted Grell. "I'm respecting the magnificence of his tight, firm—"

William quickly popped him on the head with his scythe, making him yelp behind his hand. "Enough." He dropped the clipper again, leaving it to dangle from his wrist. "Try to remember our purpose here."

Grell rubbed his smarting head and grumbled resentfully.

* * *

At around the same time, Ciel Dumont and his butler Sebastian had just left the Paris branch of the Funtom toy company. The former was frustrated to have found out that the drop in quality was due to a loss in workers. It seemed that management took it upon themselves to bring in poor immigrants from other parts of Europe and set them to work on slave wages. Naturally, a starving person didn't do the best work.

Ciel fired one of the region managers and reduced the wages of the other two, informing them that they would have the chance to earn there previous wages again once they proved they could conduct themselves by Funtom company standards. Treating the workers well was part of the package, when it came to good management.

Ciel decided that he wanted a walk in the park to clear his head, and he trod the paths beneath the trees with his eyes lowered thoughtfully, and his hands in his pockets.

"I think you handled that well, master," Sebastian complimented softly. "I know your patience was running thin."

Ciel nodded. "Their mewling excuses gave me a headache. I was half-tempted to devour the first one's soul and call it a day."

Sebastian arched a brow. "Hmm, you _must_ have been angry, then. He's fortunate to have gotten away with a mere loss of employment, rather than his soul."

The younger demon smirked quietly. It was a hollow threat, and his servant knew it.

Sebastian watched a leaf flutter past on the crisp, autumn breeze. "On that subject, have you considered taking a few more souls, to aid your growth and strength?"

Ciel shook his head, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees highlighted his dark hair with faint blue and violet hues. "This is as big as I'm going to get, Sebastian. There's no point in more people losing their souls for growth that won't happen."

Sebastian frowned. "You could still grow a bit. Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to assume. It's been several months since you last fed, master."

Ciel sighed and looked up at him. "You are determined to turn me into a fiend, aren't you?"

"You already _are_ a fiend," corrected Sebastian sternly, "and you were such before you even became a demon. I'm determined to see you grow strong enough to defend yourself, if for any reason I can't. Did I not make that clear to you before?"

"Careful, Sebastian." Ciel's pretty blue eyes flashed with amusement as they gazed into his. "One might think you were sassing me, just now."

"Might one?" Sebastian sighed, painting a dejected expression on his face. "Well, I shall simply reiterate that my master's safety is of utmost importance to me. Demon butlers can get frustrated too, you know."

Ciel's expression softened a little. "Yes, I know. I'll be fine, though. I'm an excellent shot with a pistol, I'm good with a blade and my martial arts are improving. I'll simply continue honing these abilities each day. Stop being so concerned."

"I see." Sebastian watched the cobbled path ahead of them, and he and Ciel moved aside a bit to allow room for a passing young couple. Ciel politely tipped his hat at them and Sebastian gave them a nod when they greeted them. Once they had passed by, the butler smiled thoughtfully at his companion. "I can still pick you up and carry you like a doll, you know."

"You have supernatural strength," reminded Ciel coolly. "You could pick up a sumo wrestler and carry him around with ease. What of it?"

"I wouldn't need demonic strength to carry you," insisted Sebastian. "Don't mistake me, my lord. Your body is toned to perfection, but you're still no bigger than the young ladies your age. I daresay Lady Midford should be taller than you, by now."

Ciel blew a sigh, betraying his frustration. "Yes, yes...everyone knows I'm short. I always have been and I probably always will be. I've given up trying to be tall."

"I'm merely reminding you that there's a chance you could still grow another inch or so, if you would put aside your stubborn morals and resume feeding."

The young man stopped, and he glared at his servant with irritation. "I'll decide if I need more souls, Sebastian. That's the end of it."

The butler lowered his crimson eyes contritely. "Yes, my lord." He glanced up again when Ciel started to walk away, evidently satisfied with his response. He noticed that there were no other people within immediate view, and a thought occurred to him. A mischievous grin curved Sebastian's lips, and he moved with swift, silent intent.

"Hey! What are you—" Ciel sputtered as the taller demon closed in on him and effortlessly scooped him up, bride style.

"You see, master?" Sebastian said softly. "Like a doll."

The fair cheeks blossomed with pink as Ciel cast a humiliated look around. His face was mere inches away from Sebastian's as he spoke in a whisper. "This is one of those things that falls into the category of inappropriate behavior." Despite his words, he impulsively put an arm around Sebastian's neck.

"I made sure nobody was nearby, before I picked you up. I really haven't held you this way for some time."

"You can't just scoop me up like a kitten whenever you bloody well feel like it," snapped the young man in a tight voice. "I'm your master, not your toy!"

Sebastian gave him a little squeeze. "Of course. I only wanted to demonstrate to you how easily you fit into a grown man's arms. I'm quite pleased with your size myself, and if you were sincere about giving up on growing taller, I suppose it doesn't matter."

Ciel sighed. "You really are a nursemaid, at times. I'm not going to tell you again, Sebastian; I will decide when and if I consume more souls. Your disrespectful actions won't change that."

"One can't blame me for trying, master." Sebastian smiled warmly at him. Of course, many people had seen that very same smile before being impaled by silverware or having limbs ripped from their bodies. He held him closer again, giving him another squeeze.

"Sebastian. Put. Me. Down."

The butler obliged, gently setting him down. Ciel's top-hat was lopsided, and Sebastian dutifully righted it, before kneeling before him cordially. "Forgive my impudence, my lord. I had the urge to cuddle you." He kept his amusement over Ciel's flustered indignation carefully concealed, keeping his expression perfectly sincere.

Ciel's blush deepened. "You need to control those urges in public, and find other ways to express your points. I don't need you to demonstrate how small and light I still am at every turn."

Sebastian smirked and straightened up. "As you wish. My impulses seem to get the better of me, when it comes to you and cats."

Ciel grumbled under his breath, but Sebastian saw the brief little smile on his lips before he could hide it. He'd forgotten how delightful a courtship could be. It was especially entertaining when courting someone like Ciel, who had so many intimacy issues he was practically encased in ice. Sebastian loved the challenge of winning his affection, almost as much as he loved their verbal duels and the feel of Ciel's body against his.

"I feel like having some lunch," announced Ciel, checking his pocket watch. "Let's do some shopping, and when noon comes around we can find a cafe. Don't look at me like that. It's nice to eat out, once in a while."

Sebastian suppressed a sigh. That his master still chose to eat at _all_ was confusing to him. It made perfect sense to pretend to be mortal and dine in front of human beings when entertaining them as guests, but Ciel ate in private, too. He generally had one meal a day, and he still maintained his tea schedule. The only thing eating and drinking did for him was make him need to use the bathroom. None of it offered any nutritional value, so though his body could process it, there was no point.

Ciel was still clinging to his mortal life, and Sebastian's concern that it would hold him back from his true potential grew stronger with each day.

* * *

Grell sipped the rose wine he'd selected, watching Undertaker with a question in his eyes all the while. The funeral director had a snifter of brandy, and he tapped the side of it with a fingernail before tasting it. He nodded in approval and set it down.

"Well, where do you want me to start?"

William parted his lips to answer, but Grell beat him to it. "Actually, I'd like to clear the air about something, first."

Undertaker made an inviting gesture with his free hand, still delicately holding the brandy glass with the other. "Ask. Keep it in mind, you may have to sing for your supper."

Grell's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Undertaker chuckled. "It means that I'm prepared to tell you things about Mr. Fischer, but I may require added incentive if I think the questions you ask are too personal."

"Oh." Grell looked slightly crestfallen for a moment, but he shrugged. The sleeves of his ill-fitting coat slipped further down over his shoulders and he adjusted them again. "All right, then. Are you a necrophiliac?"

William choked on his port. He hastily reached for a hanky from his pocket, while Grell absently patted him on the back. "G-Grell," he coughed, desperate to shut him up.

"I only ask because you seem to have an abnormal attachment to dead things," Grell said guilelessly, "and people _do_ talk, you know. It's a question that's been nagging at me for some time, now. It makes me sad to think a maiden would have to be dead to have a chance with you."

William flagged down the barmaid and tapped his glass. When she smiled and nodded, he downed the rest of his drink and he inconspicuously stepped on Grell's foot beneath the table. "I really don't think this is appropriate conversation to have, right now. We've come here to discuss the fugitive, so we can better understand him and—"

"Let the man answer, William," insisted Grell.

"Hmm." Undertaker rubbed a finger over his smiling lips, watching them both with obvious amusement. "Is that what they say about me, then?"

"It's only fools' gossip," William excused, mortified. He glared at his companion. "Please excuse Mr. Sutcliff's vile manners, Undertaker."

Undertaker made a dismissive gesture, still grinning. "You should hear some of the things the humans say about me." He snickered softly into his drink as he had another sip.

"Well?" Grell leaned forward with interest, propping one elbow on the table as he grinned at the silver-haired Shinigami. "Believe me sir, I'm willing to 'sing for my supper' in ways you could scarcely imagine. I must know."

William put his face in his palms.

"You'd be surprised by what I can imagine, Mr. Sutcliff," answered the Undertaker with a smirk. "But in the interest of getting down to business, I'll answer your question. No, I'm not a necrophiliac. I like my partners to respond to me, and while the dead are wonderful listeners, they hold no romantic appeal for me."

"Well, now you've satisfied your disgusting curiosity," William insisted. "Can we please get on with it? Again, I apologize, Undertaker."

"No need," assured the funeral director. "You know how I love to be entertained. At least his questions weren't boring."

"I...see. Well, I suppose the first thing I'd like to know is what Dedrich Fischer is like. Our information states that he was originally from Vienna."

"He was," answered Undertaker with a nod. "And he and I were amongst the first reapers to interact with the human world. Long ago, the dead used to just lay under the ground until a reaper could get around to collecting their souls. If you think you're short staffed now, Mr. Spears, you should have seen the way it was back then."

"I can imagine," sighed William. "Please, go on."

"Personality-wise, Dedrich had a dry sense of humor. He didn't crack jokes all that often because he was dedicated to his work—just like myself. When he came out with a funny though...oh my...so many times, I nearly cracked a rib laughing." He began to snicker under his breath, evidently replaying some of those old times in his mind's eye.

When he regained control of his mirth, Undertaker cleared his throat and had another drink. "Ah, where was I? Oh, he was a real ladykiller—not literally, of course. The rules you young folk operate under today are more or less the same ones we were bound to, back in the day. Reapers were forbidden from interfering with mortal life and death. Our task was to view and judge the cinematic records, and to collect them if the recipient was sentenced to die."

Undertaker sighed, for once losing his jolly attitude as nostalgia reared its head. "Dedrich helped me distance myself from the job, when we first began."

"Oh?" William glanced sidelong at his redheaded companion, his thoughts going to the day when Grell saved him from being dragged down by the cinematic records of their first assignment.

"Well, I happen to _like_ humans," Undertaker explained, his grin returning. "I find them interesting to observe, and quite amusing at times. That hasn't changed in all these years. It's always tough in the beginning. We don't start out immune to our sympathy for them, especially the first time we see the events of their life."

Hearing that this legendary Shinigami also suffered difficulty when first starting out, William was quietly amazed. Undertaker was known for having a gift for reaping the souls of the dying, regardless of how hard they clung to life. "I had no idea, sir."

"Dedrich was much better than I was, in the beginning," confessed Undertaker, "but he found humanity more annoying than I did—not counting the ladies. He was especially fond of Dutch girls."

"So he was a womanizer," reasoned Grell—earning himself a painful jab in the side from William.

"He enjoyed romancing the ladies, when he wasn't reaping them," answered Undertaker with a chuckle, "but he didn't bed them all, the way you imply. Anyhow, we had our moments of clashing, he and I. We were competitive with each other for some time. He was an ambitious reaper, always determined to be the best. As for myself, I just wanted to learn. I wanted to understand these creatures whose lives and deaths we'd been given so much power over. I was quite the seeker of answers, back in those days."

William felt he could empathize with that. "You lacked his ambition?"

Undertaker shrugged, and he tapped his now empty glass. Grell called the barmaid over and instructed her to bring refills for all of them, while the silver Shinigami elaborated a bit. "I had ambition, Mr. Spears, but mine was less focused. I saw other reapers scrambling for approval all around me, and I thought they were being frantic idiots."

William snorted, and he cleared his throat to cover the sound. "I understand."

The barmaid returned with the drinks, and she took away their empty glasses. Undertaker went on with his tale. "The thing you need to understand about Dedrich is that whatever his goal is, he'll stop at _nothing_ to accomplish it. Even if he's changed drastically from the reaper I knew back then, I'm sure that trait hasn't. Some things about us never change, you see."

"I can agree with that," said Grell. Beneath the table, he squeezed William's knee and the brunet quietly removed his hand, casting a sidelong glance of warning at him. Grell sighed and returned his attention to Undertaker. "So, if you were to take a gander, what do you think this fellow's goal might be?"

"You referred to this situation as a power struggle, before," William recalled aloud, scratching his chin. "I'm wondering if you might elaborate on that?"

"Well, seeing as Dedrich wasn't too fond of the Association the last time we spoke, I wouldn't put it past him to try to bring down the current management. That's just speculation on my part, though. He invited me to come to Paris, after all. Maybe he's trying to show me something."

"Oh." William's eyes widened a bit. "When you said you were here by invitation, I didn't know you meant...that."

"He had his little friend in London stuff a message into a corpse for me, probably figuring I'd be the one to do the autopsy," explained Undertaker with a grin. "Made quite a mess, in fact."

"The Yard found and detained two copycat killers, since this all began," informed William grimly, his mouth compressing into a thin line. "But the more recent ones were definitely committed by a reaper. The souls were collected. The ones not committed by Fischer himself have occurred around London and nearby settlements."

"He's trying to spread you thin," surmised Undertaker. "He knows the Society's hounds are getting close, and he doesn't want you all backing him into a corner until he's finished."

"Finished with _what_, though?" Grell said. "We've had rogue Shinigami before! How is this going to bring down the system? If all it took was a few random killings, I would have brought the Association down myself when I was working with Madame Red."

"He's distracting you," reasoned Undertaker. "At least, that would be _my_ guess. Keep it in mind that I haven't seen or spoken to this fellow since I retired from the reaping business."

William's gaze went to the scar twisting down Undertaker's face. He still marveled at how it only seemed to emphasize his beauty, rather than cloud it. He wondered how it got there again, and he started to get a creeping suspicion that Fischer might have something to do with it.

"He reportedly vanished shortly after you...'retired'," William said delicately, unwilling to offend Undertaker with accusations of being a deserter, no matter how accurate they might be. He took another swallow of his ale before continuing. "Undertaker, I apologize in advance if this question falls under the category of being too personal, but was Mr. Fischer one of the Shinigami they sent to relieve you of your death scythe, when you set aside your glasses?"

Undertaker went silent, staring at his glass of brandy thoughtfully. "I think we're going to need a lot more to drink, gentlemen."

* * *

Somehow, Undertaker managed to talk about everything _except_ for William's question, and the administrator was so enchanted with hearing him reminisce about the past that it kept slipping his notice. When he would politely remind him of the question concerning Fischer's involvement in whatever measures the Association had taken to deal with his desertion, Undertaker came up with an anecdote to steer the subject away, or he would order another round of drinks and toast them.

"What about your scythe?" William said after the third distracting joke. His tongue felt numb, and Grell's cheeks now had a charming flush to them. The silly grin on the redhead's lips suggested he was starting to get intoxicated.

"What about it?" asked the Undertaker, grinning.

"You shtill...er...still have it," reminded the brunet, doing his best to retain dignity and manners. "I've always wondered...how you retained it. They always take them away."

Undertaker looked him dead in the eye. "I persuaded them to change their minds."

He was so stone-faced and serious that both of the younger reapers stared uncomfortably. Even Grell was intimidated by the cold look on Undertaker's face, and William found himself contemplating whether he should apologize or just try to change the subject. Undertaker suddenly began to grin. Perfect rows of white teeth became visible as his lips pulled back from them, and his grin turned into hearty, cackling laughter that had the few people in the pub glancing at their table. He slapped the table abruptly, startling both of his companions and making them jump in their seats.

"Ah, I've still got it," snickered the Undertaker, reigning in his mirth gradually. He covered his mouth with two fingers, still chuckling between his teeth as he turned his snifter around in a clockwise motion on the table. "Have another drink, boys. I won't bite you."

Grell reached for his first, and he downed it in several swallows. The blush on his cheeks suggested he didn't find Undertaker's earlier intensity frightening, so much as arousing. William gingerly sipped his fresh glass of port, grimacing. He feared he might throw up if the unpredictable funeral director pulled another stunt like that. Fighting him would be a nightmare in the making for him, for many reasons.

"Let's not worry about what I did or didn't do to retain my scythe," persuaded Undertaker. "Dedrich is the subject of this conversation, yes?"

"Mm-hm." Grell put both elbows on the table and he propped his chin in both hands, gazing at Undertaker with smitten, hazy eyes. "Do tell us more...hic! What sort of things did Dedrich like to do to you?"

William didn't think it was possible for him to get any more embarrassed by Grell's behavior, with the buzz he was experience, but he was wrong. He shoved the redhead, hard enough to make him fall sideways out of his chair with a crash and a yell.

"Will! If you want to flirt, wait until we're done here!"

"Monsieur, are you alright?" A passing barmaid knelt beside the sprawling red reaper to help him back into his seat.

"Fine," Grell said, his enamored gaze now fixated on William, again. "Bring us more drinks. Now, what were we talking about?"

"The things that Mr. Fischer likes to...do," answered William craftily. "We know he's been to the opium dens and black market here in Paris, thanks to our 'friends'. He seems to favor the ladies too, so would he frequent the brothels?"

"Not the reaper I used to know," answered Undertaker with a shake of his head. He started to carve faint patterns on the wooden surface of the table with the point of one sharp fingernail, and Grell watched with drooling fascination. "Dedrich preferred ladies of class to the doxies. As I said, he didn't lift the skirts of every woman he fancied—especially the humans. He liked the thrill of romancing them, but he mostly kept to lady Shinigami when it came to bedroom shenanigans."

"Hm. No men, then?" Grell looked disappointed.

"Not that I ever saw," answered Undertaker. The fresh drinks came and they moved all of their empty glasses into the center of the table for the serving girl to take them. "He kept to the fairer sex."

"Fairer." Grell snorted. "I'd make a much better lady than some of the women I've come to know."

"I'm sure you would." Undertaker smiled at him.

William hastily gave Grell a subtle poke in the ribs when he saw the danger. The compliment—whether it was intended to or not—predictably inflamed Grell's passions and he looked like he could leap over the table and kiss Undertaker at any moment.

"So," William said, gathering his thoughts again, "are there...I mean, is there anything more you could tell us that might assist with the investigation?"

"I've told you everything of importance," answered the older Shinigami. He covered his mouth on a hiccup. "Just keep it in mind that he's been missing for nearly two centuries, and so far nobody knows where he was or what happened to him. My information is dated."

"But he wants to meet with you," reasoned William.

"That's right," agreed Grell with a nod, cuddling closer to the brunet. "He slipped you a note in a dead body. That's almost romantic."

"And they say _I'm_ too interested in the dead," chuckled Undertaker. "Like I said; I don't know why he had his fellow slip me that message. I've got my theories, but I won't know the truth until I see him again. I can ensure you it's not any romantic gesture on his part."

"Did you mean 'assure'?" William asked.

Undertaker tilted his head. "What did I say?"

"You said 'ensure'," obliged Grell with a sharp grin. "Looks like we aren't the only ones getting tipsy."

"Well, if we're going to get tipsy, let's do it right." Undertaker downed his shot and called for another one.

William sat torn as Grell followed suit. He shouldn't be drinking this much. He still had investigating to do, not to mention supervising the efforts of the others on the case. Still, with his judgment already impaired by the alcohol he'd already consumed and his desire to be polite, he found himself accepting yet another shot of brandy, and another pint to wash it down with.

"I'm going to regret this," he muttered beneath his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had more than two drinks at a time.

* * *

Ronald checked the sign hanging over the pub entry, and he checked the piece of paper in his hand. "Looks like this is the place."

The receptionist at the hotel had informed him that his boss called from a phone booth at a local pub, when he stopped in for a break and a shower. He scratched his head and frowned up at the sign.

"What's Senpai doing at a pub at this hour?" he wondered aloud. It certainly wasn't beneath Grell to go out for a couple of drinks after finishing up for the day, but he was with William, and Ronald couldn't imagine the rigid supervisor allowing him to have a drink at noon. He shrugged. Maybe they were getting a bite to eat. A lot of pubs offered both food and drink.

Ronald moved aside as an old man staggered out, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale liquor emanating from him. "What did you do, _bathe_ in it?"

Oblivious to his observation, the old drunk trudged on, muttering in French beneath his breath. Ronald shook his head. "That one's going to be on the list pretty soon, I'll bet." He combed his fingers through his feathered hair and he opened the door to step into the pub.

It was a pretty nice place inside, with polished tables, a warm fire burning in a stone hearth against the back wall, and a phonograph playing soft orchestra music in the corner near the phone booth. Ronald smiled at a buxom barmaid as she started to walk past, and he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for a man in red. He's really hard to miss, and he's supposed to be in here. He's got really long hair and he can be kind of loud."

"Ah, yes," she said in heavily accented English. She smiled at Ronald, tucking a brown curl back into place with her bun. "Your friend is in the corner booth near the window, over there. Perhaps you should consider taking him home, Monsieur. He and his companions have had a lot to drink."

Ronald looked where she was pointing, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. There was Grell Sutcliff and William T. Spears, and both of their faces were naked of glasses. Grell had his arms folded over the table and his face was hidden in them. Next to him, William seemed to be in a deep conversation with a gentleman with long silver hair, tied into a ponytail with a black bow. Ronald couldn't see his face, but he could tell that he was tall.

"Er, thanks." He stopped the girl as she started to walk away, and he gave her his most charming smile. "Hey, what time is your shift over with? Maybe we could meet up and have a drink?"

"I...forgive me," she said softly, blushing, "but I am betrothed."

Ronald shrugged. "Ah well...you can't blame a guy for trying. Thank you."

Leaving the cute barmaid alone to resume her duties, the young reaper waded through the pub, passing by occupied tables as he went. These places always got busier after noon. He stopped before the table and he stared when he got his first glimpse of the silver-haired man's face.

"Who the...wait...is this Undertaker?"

"...and then, he tried to pull the tablecloth off," Undertaker was saying to Spears, "and _every_ dish and glass fell to the floor!" He laughed heartily, and William smiled.

The sight of William T. Spears smiling like that was enough to make Ron do a double-take. He then realized that the normally strict brunet was under the influence, as well. If the number of empty glasses and the smell was any indication, the three of them had enjoyed quite the little party, together. Neither of the two reapers had noticed him yet, and Grell was snoring softly into his folded arms.

Scratching his head in bewilderment, Ronald decided he'd be safer if he asked Grell what was going on. He put a hand on the redhead's shoulder and he gave it a shake, frowning. "Senpai? You still in there?"

Grell lifted his head and looked around blearily. "Muh?" His eyes lifted to Ron and he blinked, squinting. "Who's thish?"

"Ronald," answered Ron. He noticed with some relief that Grell's glasses were still hanging around his neck. For one horrible instant, he'd feared that the Undertaker had somehow convinced both of them to defect. A better look at Spears revealed that his glasses were tucked safely into his right breast pocket. Why they'd taken the eyewear off was still a mystery to him, though.

"Senpai, what's going on? I got your message and—" He started to bend over, but he caught a whiff of Grell's breath and he covered his mouth and nose, instead. "Whoa, you're pretty out of it. Why didn't you invite me to the party?"

"Ah, Ron," mumbled Grell. "Look, there's a...hic...thing."

"Er...okay." Ronald looked at William and Undertaker again—both of whom had finally noticed him. Undertaker gave him a grin and a nod, while William looked to be struggling to keep sitting straight and not give away how drunk he was. "Mr. Spears, I got word that you had an informant on the case, and Senpai needed me to come and take notes?"

"Yes," answered William with a slow, deliberate nod. He started to reach for the glasses in his pocket, but his companion sitting across from him shook his head subtly and made a "tsk" sound. William stopped and squinted up at Ronald. "Check theatersh, opera houshes and local fes...festiv...festivities. Our friend enjoys the company of...of ladies, and he may be scouting for his next target while he's doing sho."

Ronald's confusion got buried under amusement, and he had to pinch his lips together to avoid laughing. A glance at Undertaker sobered him enough to speak in a somewhat even tone, though. He'd seen brief glimpses of his face before, but he was mostly used to seeing him covered in black robes, with a top hat crammed on his head. His scars were really what made Ronald recognize him.

"What about this guy?" asked Ron. "No offense, old man, but this is an official investigation. You'd better not be trying to pull anything, here."

"What could a feeble old has-been like me possibly pull?" Undertaker asked with a benign shrug. His thick-lashed eyes stayed on Ronald, remarkably steady despite the way he swayed in his seat.

Remembering how the Undertaker had battled Fischer at the docks that evening when Grell was almost mortally injured, it occurred to Ronald that he should try to be a little more respectful. He could be promoted within a year, if he stayed out of trouble and did his job well. He'd even started being more punctual. He spread his hands and smiled at the Undertaker. "Look, I appreciate what you did to help us when Sutcliff-Senpai was hurt. All I'm saying is you shouldn't get too caught up in this. If you're here to help, that's great. Just leave the rest to us, okay?"

"I intended to," answered the Undertaker with a nod. "Was there anything else?"

Refusing to be intimidated by that naked, unwavering stare, Ronald shrugged. "Just a couple of questions." He looked to William, who was wiping at a brandy spill on his blazer with a frown. "Why aren't you and Sutcliff-Senpai wearing your glasses, and can you walk on your own?"

William frowned at him, straightening up in his seat with dignity. "Of _course_ we can walk. As for the glasses, they were part of the arrange...arrangement. Undertaker asked that we remove them."

Grell dropped his head into his folded arms again, apparently finished with the conversation.

Ronald glanced at Undertaker, who was holding up a half-finished glass of brandy and watching the sunlight coming in through the window filter through the amber liquid. He seemed the most sober of the three of them, but it was difficult to tell with him. Knowing his penchant for making people entertain him in exchange for secrets, he wasn't too surprised.

"I'd better get you back your hotel," sighed the young reaper. He wasn't that worried about the dispatch supervisor; even drunk, William managed to retain a semblance of common sense. Grell, however, already had questionable judgment when sober. The thought of what he might get up to if he wandered away drunk was enough to make Ronald cringe. It was usually the older reapers that worried over the choices of the younger generation; not the other way around.

"I can see them home," insisted Undertaker.

Ronald looked at him dubiously.

"We'll be fine," William assured, still wiping at his blazer. "Go and relay the information we've given you to the rest of the team. Report in later tonight, after I've had the chance to clear my head."

Since he almost sounded sober, Ronald felt a little better. "Okay, sir. Please be careful and sleep it off. If you're not prepared to take a report tonight and we don't find anything really important, I'll catch up with you first thing in the morning."

"That will do," agreed William. He looked to the Undertaker. "Well, I think we've outdone ourselves for the day. Shall we?"

Undertaker nodded in agreement.

* * *

Ciel and Sebastian were just about to enter the very same pub that the Shinigami had just finished at, when he saw Ronald Knox exiting. Sebastian spotted him too, and the butler grabbed his master and pulled him into an alley. As far as they knew, Ronald wasn't aware of the truth concerning Ciel and he _should_ still believe him to be dead.

"He might not have recognized me even if he'd spotted me," Ciel whispered to his companion. Sebastian had pressed him up against the wall of one of the buildings, and Ciel found the intimate press of his body against him a bit distracting.

"We shouldn't take the chance," murmured Sebastian, his narrowed crimson gaze watching as the familiar young reaper walked away. "It seems that Spears was right. The longer this investigation keeps the Shinigami organization focused on Paris, the larger the risk of discovery for you."

Ciel heaved a sigh, and he lightly pushed against Sebastian's chest. "Stop smothering me, at least. He's gone, now. We can exit the other side of this alley and catch a coach back to the house."

"Agreed."

They started to do just that, when the pub door across the street opened again and three more familiar people staggered out. Ciel stopped in mid-turn and he arched a brow. It took him a moment to recognize the Undertaker, but Grell and William were impossible to mistake. The former was arm and arm with Undertaker, his unsteady steps supported by the older Shinigami. The latter followed behind them, doing his best to look sober and dignified but failing to walk a straight line. Grell was laughing shrilly at something the Undertaker had said to him, and William seemed too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to be annoyed. Not a one of them were wearing glasses, and people had to dodge out of their way to avoid being run into as they passed on the street.

"Sebastian."

"Yes?"

Ciel's mouth twitched. "What am I looking at?"

The taller demon placed two fingers over his own lips, and he smiled. "It would appear to be three drunk, blind Shinigami, my lord."

Ciel nodded, coughing into his fist. "That's what I thought." He covered his mouth completely to muffle a snicker when William stumbled sidelong into the wall of a dress shop, barely avoiding falling to the cobblestone. Laughing at the expense of someone he really didn't care for came far too easy, for him.

Ciel quickly covered up his mirth with another cough, forcing his expression and voice back to neutrality. "Mark that pub off the list. We can't go there anymore while the Shinigami investigation is going on, if they've begun to frequent it. As you noted, I've changed, but there's still a chance one of them could recognize my features and begin asking questions."

"I agree," answered Sebastian. "Shall we go?"

Ciel nodded and turned, pulling his coat a little tighter around him as a cold breeze flowed through the alleyway. He noticed Sebastian's smirk and he looked up at him curiously. "I sense you have further insight to share with me."

"I was merely thinking of the nursery rhyme about the three blind mice, young master. Do you recall it?"

Ciel smirked as well. "Yes. All that was missing from the scene we just witnessed were shaded glasses, walking canes and a clock."

"Indeed."

* * *

-To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 11: Dance Steps

**_Author's note: An explicit sex scene has been cut from this chapter to comply with FFnet's censorship policies. If you want to read the full, uncensored chapter you can find it at Ygallery or Archive of our Own; both of which are linked under my profile page here. _**_I know that a couple of the characters in this chapter are dead in the Musical, where they were first introduced, but I've taken some creative liberties. Since this story is based mostly on the anime canon, I'm going with the assumption that they're alive and still working for the Association._

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Undertaker came out of the bathroom to find his two younger companions lying together in the bed, sleeping soundly, and he brushed his bangs aside and squinted with interest. For once, William looked utterly relaxed. He lay on his back with one arm around his redheaded companion, who was cuddled up to him with his head resting on his chest. Grell had one leg casually lying across William's, and he had a contented, drunken little smile on his lips.

Amused by the sight, Undertaker staggered over to them and he lifted the folded-down comforter, draping it over the slumbering pair. He considered retiring to his own suite, but he'd barely managed to relieve his bladder without causing a minor catastrophe.

"I may have…hic…overdone it," he admitted softly to himself. His bleary gaze went to the armchair by the French doors leading out to the balcony, and he shrugged.

* * *

When they finished their day in town, Sebastian insisted on combat training. Ciel was fine with that, until he discovered that common fighting techniques weren't what the butler had in mind. As they faced off in the sparring room, he had the unpleasant experience of being the recipient of demonic trickery. He aimed a kick at his opponent's midsection, only to have it hit empty air. Sebastian was simply...gone.

Ciel sensed the threat from behind a moment too late, and he cursed as Sebastian's knee connected with his lower back, sending him sprawling to the floor. It wasn't a gentle hit, either. Ciel gasped for breath and stared up at his companion accusingly, grimacing in pain as he put a hand to the injured spot.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing?"

Sebastian looked neither contrite nor teasing. His face might have been carved from alabaster, for all the expression in it. "I'm instructing you. Right now, I'm not your servant and you aren't my master. We are simply instructor and student, and you need to start learning how to use your demonic gifts in a fight."

Ciel glared at him as he struggled back to his feet. "You didn't warn me."

Sebastian tilted his head. "Would an enemy warn you?"

"No, but how am I supposed to learn anything when all you do is show off?" Ciel brushed his hands over his sparring outfit, absently smoothing the material. "If you want me to learn how to do whatever you just did, then tell me how. Don't just pop up behind me and sucker-punch me."

The mask of indifference fractured just a bit, and Sebastian's lips twitched. "Fair enough. Well, young master, it's quite simple. You refuse to consume more than the bare necessity of souls, and therefore you are going to remain weak."

Ciel sighed at him. "Not _this_ again."

"I'm merely stating the facts," insisted Sebastian. "I will of course respect your choice. I will not, however, allow you to remain ignorant of all of the abilities you have yet to tap. Perhaps someone with your cunning doesn't _need_ raw strength, but we need to ensure you know how to make use of your full potential—particularly if we're going to continue dealing with the Shinigami."

"You think they'll turn on us?" Ciel frowned.

"I think they're Shinigami," answered Sebastian dryly, "and as a whole, they aren't fond of demons. Most of them are unpredictable on their best days, and even those with clearer heads like Mr. Spears wouldn't likely hesitate to strike you down, if ordered to by their superiors. Even our 'friends' don't betray us, there's still a very dangerous rogue on the loose who is reportedly as old as Undertaker. I'd rather not leave anything up to chance, thank you."

Ciel lowered his gaze in thought. "I see. Well then, I suppose I'd better learn what I can do with this body."

Sebastian's eyes flashed for a moment, and his lips twitched again. "Yes, I look forward to assisting you with that."

Ciel had no idea what was so amusing, but Sebastian had an odd sense of humor.

* * *

William awoke slowly, his eyes blinking open with reluctance as the effects of the alcohol died off. He grimaced at the lingering, stale taste of port in his tongue and he started to sit up, only to realize he was half-pinned by Grell's weight. He looked down at the crimson head resting on his chest, and his first impulse was to push his companion away. Things had changed between them, however. Instead of shoving the other Shinigami's head off of him, William stroked his hair slowly. Grell mumbled something and snuggled more securely against him. Despite his annoyance that he'd fallen asleep in his suit, with his shoes still on, William's expression softened. With care that would have surprised Grell if he'd been awake to witness it, William gently eased away from him and pulled the covers down.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to recall the events of the day as he dug his watch out of his pocket. He vaguely recalled stumbling into the suite after drinking far too much at the pub, but he didn't remember lying down. He heard soft snoring from the armchair as he squinted at the timepiece in his hand, and he hastily dug for his glasses. With some relief at finding them safely in his pocket, William put them on and looked across the room.

Undertaker was sprawled in the armchair, with his head bowed and his long bangs covering half his face. He'd freed his hair from the ponytail and it straggled around his shoulders and down his chest like a pale cloak. His hands rested on his stomach, with the fingers threaded together. His long legs were stretched out and it looked like he could slide out of the seat at any moment. He appeared to be deeply asleep, despite the uncomfortable position he was in. William took a moment to covertly admire the older reaper. Even in such an undignified position, he was drawn to him. On a whim, he unbuttoned his blazer and he draped it over Undertaker's chest and shoulders, partially covering him up.

He combed his fingers through his hair in an absent attempt to tame it back into place. The sun would be setting soon. They'd wasted the day in a drunken stupor, when they should have been out scouring the city with their associates. Despite his aversion to working overtime, William was very dedicated to professionalism, and today's behavior was somewhat lacking in that department, to say the least.

The phone started to ring and William winced, shooting a glance at his companions. Undertaker snorted but otherwise didn't stir, and Grell rolled over and blindly slapped at the alarm clock on the nightstand. William hurried over to the phone, sitting on the side table by the door.

"William T. Spears speaking," he said into the mouthpiece as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Spears senpai, there's been another murder," Ronald's voice answered. "A woman in the southern part of the city. She's already been reaped. You and Sutcliff senpai should hurry, before the police arrive."

"What happened?" William asked with a frown. He bent over the little table and took the pen out of its holder, preparing to write on the stationary provided for guest convenience.

Ronald sighed. "We were tracking him. I think he deliberately led us to his latest kill. She's inside an abandoned building; we think it used to be a library."

William compressed his lips and hastily scribbled the note. "Tell me where you are, and I'll come and meet you."

"What about Grell?"

William looked toward the bed, where Grell was again fast asleep. "He may be useless to us as he is now, but we'll see."

* * *

Grell clung to William like kudzu, no matter how many times the brunet tried to nudge him away. Still groggy from wine, the redhead couldn't quite manage to stand straight on his own, and William wondered why he even brought him with. Undertaker was much more clear-headed. In fact, he hardly seemed troubled by any lingering effects of the alcohol he'd consumed earlier. He was apparently the only one of the three of them that had managed to completely sleep it off. William himself was still slightly buzzed.

They arrived at the building in question, and they found their Shinigami associates inside, holding lanterns to see by. Eric Slingby greeted them with a respectful nod, his gaze briefly settling on Undertaker with curiosity. He was an attractive man with a light growth of beard on his chin, a serious demeanor and great devotion to his partner. He wore his blond hair combed to the left, with the right side dyed black and braided into cornrows against his scalp. The style was far ahead of the time period, and when he ventured out into public eye, humans often stopped and stared in perplexity at him.

"Good to see you again, William," said Eric as he offered his hand. "And you, Grell. You both look a little worse for the wear."

"We had an unusual day," excused William. He shook Eric's hand and he ignored the smirk he saw on Ronald's face, save to warn him with his eyes not to mention their earlier pub activities. He looked at the ravaged body on the floor, where Eric's partner Alan was kneeling. There was blood everywhere, and the clean, precise cuts slashing over the woman's body certainly seemed to be the work of the man they were after. Fischer had at least one ally working with him, however.

Alan looked up from the body, his short-styled brown hair slightly mussed and a light sheen of sweat on his brow. "Hello, Mr. Spears. We think he killed her before we picked up his trail. It's too bad we couldn't arrive in time to stop him."

"You really think he deliberately baited you?"

"He knew we were closing in on him," Alan said with a sigh, "and from what we know of the case so far, he's really crafty. He's doing this for a purpose that none of us have figured out, yet."

"He's been fascinated with the case since we read the files," Eric sighed, casting a little smile at his younger partner. "He insisted on asking to be put on it."

"We're glad to have you," William said sincerely. While Alan could be a bit indulgent with emotions from time to time, Eric had proven how professional he could be.

"Hmm, all this red," Grell sighed, finally releasing William's arm to crouch by the body. He smeared a gloved finger through a congealing pool and raised it to the light, rubbing the blood between thumb and forefinger. "She's been here for a while, all right." He looked up at William, his pupils dilated in the dim light. "Will, I think there was a message here. He's doing more than taunting us, isn't he?"

A bit surprised that the man could hold a sober thought like that in his head, William was reminded again that Grell had ranked top of their class. He was still counted amongst the best in the department too, when he wasn't going off on a tangent or trying to seduce men.

"Yes, I agree," answered William upon gathering his wits. He looked at their companion, who had come to observe and help, if possible. Undertaker had hastily changed back into his usual attire before they left the hotel, and his bangs covered his eyes beneath the top hat again. "Undertaker, would you care to have a look?"

The elder death god gave one of his white-toothed smiles. "I'd rather have a listen, Mr. Spears."

Ronald's brows went up. "Uh…she's dead, sir. I don't think she'll be saying a whole lot."

Undertaker clucked his tongue and stepped forward, shooing the others aside like chickens. "The dead _always_ have something to say, Mr. Knox. One simply need know how to listen. Step aside, please, so that I can chat with the dear lady."

Alan and Eric stood opposite William and Grell, while Ronald stood between the four of them. They all watched as Undertaker knelt before the corpse, his black garments settling around his booted feet. The material began to soak up some of the blood, but Undertaker didn't seem to notice or care. He gathered the dead woman into his arms and he lifted her with care, handling her almost as if she were a sleeping princess. Her head fell back against his arm and the cut in her throat gaped open. Alan looked away with a slight grimace, revealing that he'd never quite learned to detach himself completely from the sight of a gruesome death. Eric patted him on the back absently, his eyes on Undertaker.

"Well, my dear," Undertaker said to the corpse, speaking as if they were completely alone together, "what do you have to share with me? Perhaps a dance will persuade you to part with your secrets?"

Ronald leaned closer to Grell. "He's not serious, is he?"

Grell shrugged. "Probably."

Undertaker answered the debate a moment later as he shifted the corpse in his arms, letting the legs drop stiffly to the floor beneath the torn and bloody dress. He put one arm around the body's waist and he laid her head against his shoulder, patting the blood-matted brown curls before taking her stiffening hand in his. As the others watched, he began to dance with her, twirling her around with macabre ease as he hummed a folk tune.

"At least it's not 'London Bridge'," muttered Grell out the corner of his mouth. "I've had my fill of that song for a lifetime."

"Shh," admonished William with a frown. He couldn't even begin to understand the Undertaker's methods, but he knew he had a gift with the dead. There wasn't a living being on earth that understood the dead better than this Shinigami, whether it was due to lingering psychic abilities or special observation skills.

Undertaker laughed softly and cupped the back of the corpse's head, leaning over her to put his ear close to her gaping mouth. "Ah, so that's the way of it? Well then, let's have a look."

Ronald made a face as he looked at Alan and Eric, and he made a meaningful, if unflattering, gesture at his head while nodding at the dancing funeral director. Alan nodded in agreement and Eric smirked—until William gave all three of them a glare. They sobered and ended their silent exchange, returning their attention to the strange old legend performing his dance of death.

Undertaker stopped, and he eased the body back down onto the floor. "Someone bring me a light," he instructed.

Alan was the first to comply, despite his earlier expressed discomfort with Undertaker's handling of the body. He hovered his lantern overhead as Undertaker retrieved his glasses from his pocket and put them on. The retired Shinigami lifted his bangs and he retrieved something else from within his robes. It looked like a surgical clamp. He pried the corpse's mouth open further and Alan looked away and made a face when it made a cracking sound.

"Ew, I think you broke her jaw," announced Ronald bluntly.

"Rigor mortis is setting in," answered the Undertaker absently. "That pop you heard was from dislocation, not a breakage. Mr. Humphries, I need you to shine that lantern into her mouth, if you please."

Alan did so with a grimace and he shook his head at his partner when Eric looked as though he wanted to offer himself as a replacement for holding the light. He looked down at the Undertaker curiously, and with obvious reluctance, he peered into the gaping mouth of the corpse.

"Does she have something lodged in her throat?" he asked, apparently forgetting his distaste for what he was witnessing.

"Indeed, she does," agreed Undertaker absently. He reached into her mouth with the surgical instrument, catching hold of the object in question. Everyone else gathered closer with intrigue as Undertaker withdrew a folded piece of paper.

"Waxed up to keep the blood and saliva from staining it," murmured Undertaker with a grin and a nod. "I would expect no less of him."

"Is it a love letter?" asked Grell.

"You're determined to see Dedrich and I in that light, aren't you?" Undertaker chuckled, seemingly more amused than annoyed by Grell's question. He unfolded the paper and looked at it. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's not a love letter."

"Then what is it?" asked Eric curiously. He started to lean in to read over the Undertaker's shoulder, but the paper burst into flames before he could read a single word. Undertaker dropped it to the floor and they watched as it curled up and smoldered.

"That was…strange," Ronald said. "Did it self-immolate?"

"No, that was me." Undertaker grinned up at them. "Sorry, it's a private note from an old friend."

"With all due respect," William said carefully, "our agreement was that you not interfere with the investigation, and help whenever possible."

"And that's exactly what I'm doing," insisted Undertaker.

"Then what did the note say?" Grell asked.

"Suffice to say, he's trying to keep our attention," answered Undertaker. "Especially mine."

William exchanged a frowning glance with Eric. "Please elaborate on that. Why you?"

"Because of our history together, no doubt," reasoned the Undertaker with a shrug. "He's showing off. Your supposition was right, Mr. Humphries; he led you here on purpose. There's no prey more dangerous than the sort that treats the hunt like a game, gentlemen."

He closed the dead woman's mouth, and he got back to his feet with a grunt. He replaced his glasses and addressed William. "You should inform the authorities so that they can come and collect her. I'm finished, here."

They all watched as Undertaker walked to the door and left the building. When he was gone, all five of them exchanged puzzled looks. Ronald was the first to break the silence. "Are you guys _sure_ he can be trusted, Sempai?" He looked at Grell with a faintly worried expression on his face. "Seems to me he's happy to hide information from us."

William looked to the door, narrowing his eyes. "Yes, but I trust it was inspired by a desire to keep the dignity of an old friendship. He's given us no reason to believe he'll lead us astray."

Grell sighed, for once too drained to be flamboyant. "I really hope you're right about that, Will. At least agree that we should watch him carefully, won't you?"

The brunet nodded, lowering his eyes thoughtfully. It was a rare thing for Grell to be so sincere and concerned. Perhaps his admiration for Undertaker was blinding him to the possibility that he might take Fischer's side, after all.

* * *

Outside, the Shinigami on William's troubled thoughts looked up at the night sky, seeing only a blur of stars through the fringe of his bangs. His mind was on the note he'd destroyed, moments ago.

_"It takes a legend to kill a legend, old friend._

_-D.F."_

This wasn't about challenging the system, after all. This was about a death wish.

* * *

Ciel began to suspect that Sebastian teased as much as taught, but that seemed to be the norm for him with any sort of combat training. While he was a brilliant strategist, Ciel had trouble controlling his temper. Frustrated that he couldn't figure out how to do the teleportation trick that came so easily to Sebastian, Ciel nonetheless had enhanced speed and senses on his side. After two days of abysmal failure in the sparring room, Ciel _finally _caught Sebastian in a rare moment of vulnerability.

When he aimed a blow at his midsection and Sebastian vanished as expected, Ciel expected him to re-appear behind him. He dropped into a crouch and though he wasn't completely right about the location, he adjusted his aim accordingly and he swept the butler's legs out from under him with a well-placed kick. He almost yelled in triumph when Sebastian went down, landing on his back on the mat. Instead, Ciel tackled him aggressively.

"The delivery was fantastic," remarked Sebastian as he grappled with the suddenly excited young man, "but your follow-up is sloppy. Are we sparring, or playing Rugby?"

"I got you!" Announced Ciel. "Now you have to yield!"

Sebastian smiled up at him, relaxing beneath him. "Yes, my lord."

Sensing that the bigger demon was on the verge of laughter, Ciel calmed himself with a blush. He was acting like a spoiled brat again, and Sebastian was indulging him. Now that he'd come out of his battle lust, he realized he was straddling Sebastian's hips, and their hands were tightly clasped. Sebastian lay compliantly beneath him, with his hands pressed down on either side of his head. Suddenly, Ciel didn't care about finally winning a match against him, any longer. Enslaved to teenaged hormones and adult desires, Ciel lowered his mouth to Sebastian's.

"Is this how you intend to subdue real opponents?" murmured the butler against his lips.

"No, this is how I reward myself for finally relinquishing a pain in my ass."

With that said, Ciel claimed his prize. He kissed Sebastian with lusty vigor, and even though he initiated it, he allowed the butler's tongue to slide into his mouth. He loved the way Sebastian kissed, and with each one they shared, his uncertainty and shame faded a little bit more. The butler's hands began to rub his back up and down in a sensual, massaging glide. Ciel's body reacted quickly to the touch, and he unconsciously began to rub against his companion. He felt Sebastian's answering desire against his and he groaned softly, wanting to take the last step into becoming lovers, but fearful as well.

It was perhaps both a blessing and a curse when the phone began to ring. The nearest phone was down the hall in the foyer, but enhanced hearing made it hard to miss the sound. Ciel grunted in annoyance, and he came close to ignoring the call. He wasn't _quite_ ready to fully consummate his relationship with Sebastian yet, however, and he didn't want their first time to be on the sparring mat.

"Damn," he swore, breaking the kiss to get up. "I suppose we should answer that."

Sebastian waited until he was off of him before getting up, himself. "Allow me, master. I'll answer the call while you freshen up and change. I shall fetch you if it's anything that requires your personal attention."

Ciel nodded in gratitude, trying to ignore the tightness and swelling of certain parts of his body.

* * *

"Michaelis," said William stiffly when the elegant, deep voice answered the other line. "I was hoping to speak with your master."

"I'm afraid the young master is indisposed at the moment," answered the demon butler cordially. "How can I help you, Mr. Spears?"

William clenched his jaw. What difference did it make which of the two demons he spoke with? He could tell himself that Ciel was more likeable to him because he was originally a human being, but that would be a lie. His rampant dislike of Sebastian was half due to the relations he'd had with Grell in the past, and it annoyed William that he couldn't banish his jealousy. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He hated the thought of that demon's hands on Grell's body, but he didn't mind the thought of Undertaker doing the same.

"Mr. Spears?" Again, Sebastian's voice was the very definition of refined manners.

"I want to know if there have been any further developments on the search for our rogue Shinigami," answered William. Grell came out of the bathroom, freshly bathed an in his satin bathrobe. William found the sight of him combing his fingers through his damp hair distracting, and it took him a moment to drag his thoughts away from sex. "We haven't heard anything from you or Lord Dumont since the last tip."

"I'm afraid he hasn't been spotted at any of his usual places, Mr. Spears. I believe my master made it clear to you that we would contact you with any further information, when and if we have anything to report."

"Yes, of course," answered William, matching Sebastian's polite tone. "We've frequently been out, however, and I thought it might be prudent to check in with you in the event that you might have tried to contact us while we weren't around."

"Of course," replied Sebastian. "With that taken into consideration, please feel free to check in with us, provided you do so at reasonable hours and refrain from calling more than once per day. The young master agreed to assist you, and we shall do our part."

"You have our gratitude," said William. "I apologize if I've rung at a bad time."

"Not at all," assured Sebastian. "If there's nothing else I can do for you, I have duties to attend, now."

"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Michaelis. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Mr. Spears." Sebastian hung up the phone.

"Well, did they have anything interesting to report?" Grell climbed onto the bed, sweeping his robes around him as he went.

"Nothing," answered William. "Michaelis claims they have no further information for us, right now."

"Hmm." Grell smirked at him. "You speak that name with such venom, my cold, handsome prince."

Annoyed that he'd managed to use a tone like that when speaking Sebastian's name, William shrugged. "I dislike dealing with demons. You know that, by now. I only interact with them out of necessity."

Grell sighed and flipped his damp hair. His robe slipped down to bare one creamy shoulder as he smiled and winked flirtatiously at William. "Admitting jealousy is hard for you. That's all right. You know, William, you _could_ make sure I know I'm yours." He toyed with the belt of his robe, gazing at William with sultry eyes behind the lenses of his red-framed glasses. "You haven't claimed me yet, and I'm ever so willing."

William suppressed a smirk. Yes, he'd been procrastinating, and he had good reason. He wanted Grell to want him so bad that all thoughts of Sebastian would be wiped out of his mind, when he finally relieved the lust plaguing them both. Unfortunately, sleeping next to Grell each night without going further than kissing and touching him was fast turning William into a very frustrated reaper. Truthfully, he needed to work up his courage—but he wasn't about to admit that to Grell. How would he measure up to Sebastian Michaelis? As much as he disdained him, even William had to admit the demon had sexual appeal down to an art.

"Patience, Sutcliff. When I'm ready, I'll stake my claim."

The blush suffusing Grell's cheeks suggested he approved of William's tone. He embraced himself and smiled dreamily, shutting his eyes. "Oh, when you talk to me like that, it gets me so fired up! William, I want you so bad!"

William cleared his throat as he watched Grell get himself more and more worked up, and he tried not to stare at the tent in the bathrobe that was becoming more and more pronounced. Sometimes he wondered if Grell could make himself orgasm just by going on the way he did.

"Calm down, you're like a cat in heat."

Grell opened his eyes and he pouted at him, before lying stomach down on the bed and propping his chin in his hands. "I can't help it. You're such a cock tease, Will." He started to rub against the bedding suggestively, and a grin spread over his lips as he winked at the brunet. "Where is our friend?"

"Undertaker?" William rubbed his chin and turned away to hide the result of Grell's wanton behavior. "It's sundown. He's gone to visit the graveyard, as always." It had become the retired Shinigami's habit to visit the nearest library or graveyard in the evenings, since they hadn't found anything since the last body with the note stuffed into it.

"Then we should have a couple of hours to ourselves," reasoned Grell. "I think him being next door is half the reason you haven't taken me yet."

"Don't be ridiculous." William flushed despite his words, and he was glad his back was turned to the other man.

"It's okay to be shy, Will. You don't want our esteemed guess to overhear our lovemaking. I understand." Grell rolled onto his back and tilted his head back as William turned around, and he looked at him upside down as he began to deftly untie his robe. "You don't have to wait any longer, my love. Come and join me. It's the perfect opportunity."

William's gaze fixated on the other Shinigami's pale, lean torso as it was exposed to view. He swelled further in his trousers and he felt his pulse quicken. He thought of the times he'd noticed glimpses of bite marks and raspberry bruises on Grell's smooth skin after an encounter with Sebastian, and he was again stricken by the fantasy of making a few marks of his own. Grell parted the material further as he watched, slowly exposing his body further, until William could see the rosy tip of his erection poking out of the overlapped folds.

Without even consciously realizing he was doing it, William approached the bed. Grell squirmed restlessly as he came closer, the blush deepening on his cheeks. William could see his chest rising and falling faster with his excited breath. He could relate. He felt like there wasn't enough air in the room suddenly, and he reached up to loosen his tie compulsively. Grell dragged his fingertips over his stomach and up his chest and neck, parting his lips enticingly. He put a fingertip between those parted lips and nibbled it as he watched the brunet with bedroom eyes, his crimson bangs parting over his brow as they began to dry.

"Well?" prompted the redhead softly, smiling up at him. He licked his fingertip, where a spot of blood had formed. He must have bitten down enough just hard enough to puncture it. "I'm ready for you, Will. I even prepared myself for you before I left the bathroom." He shifted a bit to withdraw something from the pocket of his robe; a small jar of lubricant. He set it aside on the mattress and watched the brunet expectantly.

William frowned, his dual-colored eyes settling on Grell's erection—now fully swollen and exposed. He guessed he wasn't referring to his state of arousal. "You mean you…down there…" He couldn't put his thoughts into words and he swallowed at the mental image of Grell lubing up and fingering himself. He'd already made it abundantly clear which role he preferred to take in bed.

"Mm-hm." Grell rolled over onto his stomach again, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked William up and down, his eyes lingering on the bulge in his pants. "As I said, I'm ready for you. Now, are you going to keep punishing me, or are you going to give us both what we want? I've been faithful to you, waiting for all this time. Don't make me wait any longer, Will!"

The last was said with passion, and Grell lost his composure and climbed to his knees, reaching out to clutch at William's suit. Startled by the move and by the desperation in that fair, blushing face, William found himself caressing Grell's jaw and cheek with his fingertips. The ache between his legs was getting unbearable, and he knew he'd have to put aside his performance anxiety and just go with his instincts…or go mad.

* * *

Grell's heart nearly stopped when William touched his face. He shut his eyes and savored the caress, sensing that this time, the intent behind it was deeper than ever before. He pulled William closer by the lapels of his jacket, and he pressed soft, coaxing kisses along his jaw and neck, softly pleading with him in a breathy voice as he went. William pulled his gloves off and tucked them into his pocket, before slipping his hands into the parted material of Grell's robe.

The redhead whimpered softly against the smooth skin of his companion's cheek as those hands slid around his bare waist to draw him closer. William splayed one hand over the small of his back, and the other drifted down to cover his right bottom cheek. He caressed it and gave it a squeeze, before giving the left one the same treatment. His mouth sought out Grell's and he kissed him deeply, the motions of his lips and tongue assertive and demanding. Grell's passion quickened further and he put his arms around him, refraining from biting down on the thrusting tongue.

Like Sebastian, William had a masterful kiss that made Grell's knees buckle and caused his body to tremble. The technique was different, but the results were the same, While Sebastian's kisses were full of drugging sensuality that could seduce even the most frigid recipients, William's was hot with demanding passion. Grell had always suspected that beneath that cold exterior, William was a firebrand. He was all too happy to see that theory proven correct.

* * *

While William and Grell fully explored the pleasures of finally giving into their feelings, Undertaker stood atop a hill in the oldest cemetery in Paris; Le cimetière des Innocents. He'd chosen it because of its age, history and size. He felt quite at home there, in the park-like setting amongst the rows of tombstones, crypts and mausoleums. There were few remains of the dead left here, either in the ground or within the structures. The Parisians had removed all of the remains over a century ago, to be relocated to the underground catacombs south of the city. Still, the lingering sense of death could never be erased. The plague filled over fifty thousand of those graves alone within only a month's time, back in the late 1400's.

He'd been there for that, in fact. Undertaker remembered well how busy the Association had been, in those days. The plague swept across Europe, and he and his fellow Shinigami were kept constantly busy with all the deaths to catalogue—Dedrich included.

Undertaker knelt by a headstone beneath the branches of a tree nearly stripped bare of its leaves with the approach of winter, and he brushed aside the dead leaves and dirt to have a look at the name and date. He remembered the mortal that once lay there and he clucked his tongue.

"Do you find the catacombs a better resting place than under this hill, old shoemaker? Or have your bones disintegrated with time, like so many others? I suppose it doesn't matter. Your deeds are in the library, like the others."

"Still speaking to those who no longer have ears to hear you with, old friend?"

The voice gave Undertaker pause. It had been nearly two centuries since he'd last heard that voice, but he recognized it immediately. He stood up, but he didn't turn immediately. "Guten tag, Dedrich. I wondered when you might seek me out here." Undertaker turned to face him; a blurred figure at the bottom of the hill, with his pale blond hair blowing in the cold breeze.

"Guten tag to you," answered the other man with a nod. "I know your habits well. They haven't changed, in all this time. I wasn't sure it was you, that evening at the docks. I'm glad to see I was right."

"Hmm, I barely recognized you myself," admitted Undertaker. He grinned broadly and he tapped his nose. "But then, I'm lacking the eyewear to aid my vision."

"Ah, so I noticed." Dedrich adjusted his own glasses. "The 'collar', as I recall you referring it. Yes. I notice in addition to their absence, you're marked with scars that weren't there the last time we spoke."

"I earned them," answered Undertaker. "I think they're rather fetching, myself."

Dedrich chuckled. "You always found beauty in the strangest things. Well, I imagine the Association is frustrated, by now. Without you, they might not have even figured out who I am. I was counting on them sending out an elder to deal with me, but I never dreamed it would be you. I'm pleased."

Undertaker stared at him.

Dedrich smiled, flipping down his collar to reveal a handsome face with fine bone structure. The effect was partially lost on Undertaker, though, since he could only see a foot in front of him clearly. "You aren't going to ask me why I've been doing all of this, or where I've been?"

"I know why you're doing all of this," answered Undertaker. "But I am curious about where you've been, up until recently. It must be an interesting tale." He pressed his fingertips together and grinned again.

"I went underground after you defected," answered Dedrich. "I left the department and lived as a human—much like you have for all this time, I understand. Unlike you, I cut off all ties to the Shinigami, and I never officially announced my retirement."

"Hence why you still have your glasses and scythe," reasoned Undertaker.

"You've still got your death scythe," countered Dedrich, "and I know they came after you to retrieve it."

Undertaker shrugged, his grin remaining broad and cheerful. "Like I said; I earned my scars."

Dedrich nodded respectfully. "So you did. I would have enjoyed watching that fight. You must have given as well as you received, my friend. Why else would they have decided it was best to just allow you to keep your scythe?"

"Why indeed?" Undertaker tipped his hat. "But the better question is: what do you think is going to happen between you and I?"

"You're going to kill me, naturally."

Undertaker sighed, losing his sense of humor. "That's what I thought. Sorry to disappoint you friend, but I've got no interest in killing you. If you want to commit suicide, you're on your own."

"I have no interest in committing suicide," answered Dedrich. "I want a good death, and I can only get that if I fall to the best. None of these young ones today qualify, and the few left to match my age haven't seen a decent fight since long before we left the fold. When you defected, I heard that they went after you and for the longest time, I thought they brought you down. It wasn't until I recently learned you were working as a funeral director in London that I felt renewed hope. That was when I decided to make myself known again, and force the Association's hand."

"All of this because you want to die." Undertaker scratched his chin with long black nails. "Seems like it would have just been easier if you had committed suicide, like so many Shinigami tend to do."

"You aren't afraid of fighting me, are you?" Dedrich grinned at him.

"After the things I've lived through, I almost look forward to finding something that can still scare me," answered Undertaker with a cackle. "The truth is, I won't add the burden of killing a friend to my list of woes. Even if we can't be friends now, I still honor the past."

"We were also rivals, if you recall," reminded Dedrich.

Undertaker inclined his head in agreement. "The best kind. We'd share a nightcap and an exchange of jokes after spending the day trying to outdo one another."

Dedrich smiled again. "Yes, we did have that. The connection we once shared is part of the reason I've chosen you as my executioner, 'Undertaker'. I won't take the coward's way out with suicide, but I long for release from this world. A fight to the death with you is the only acceptable death for me."

"And if I won't fight you?" asked Undertaker. "Or rather, if I won't kill you? What if I'd rather subdue you and turn you in to the authorities?"

Dedrich chuckled darkly. "I doubt you would do such a thing. You may still assist them from time to time, but you have no love for the Shinigami Association."

"I may surprise you," argued the funeral director. "I'm not known for being predictable, these days. The one thing I can promise you is that I have no desire to kill you, even if you attack me."

"Then I'll just have to persuade you."

Undertaker sensed the attack before it came, but this time, he didn't have the chance to draw his weapon beforehand. Fischer took a startling leap at him, and the half-full moon provided an interesting backdrop as he soared through the air toward him, with the spinning blades of his death scythe leading the way. Undertaker had no choice but to roll away and evade him, while he manifested his own weapon. Dedrich missed by mere inches, and several strands of silver hair blew away in the wind as they were cut from Undertaker's head.

"I've already had a haircut this year," informed Undertaker, the crescent blade of his scythe now flashing in the moonlight, "but thank you for the offer."

"You weren't this droll, when we worked together," remarked Dedrich. He made another pass and Undertaker whirled aside, striking back with the heel of his scythe, rather than the cutting edge. The spiked skull hit the blond in the calf, making him stagger and fall to the ground.

"I've gained a better sense of humor, since then." Undertaker considered his opponent for a moment, before offering his hand to him. His sense of fair play was met with another attack, and he nearly got his hand sliced off for his troubles. He yanked his hand back and hopped away hastily as the buzzing, wicked blades of Dedrich's saws swung out in a sweeping arch.

"You're a poor sport," accused Undertaker. He hastily reached up to put a hand over his top hat to keep it from blowing off, only to find his head bare of it. He looked around frantically for a moment, but the hat was nowhere to be seen.

"You've made me lose my hat…again." Miffed, he pressed the attack again—this time putting Dedrich on the defensive. The blond was dressed in more appropriate clothes for combat, and he was able to avoid all but two of Undertaker's sweeping, twirling attacks. He suffered a blow to the side of the head and one to the ribs, before getting out of range.

"You seem oddly attached to that silly piece of headwear," remarked Dedrich, clutching the side of his smarting head with one hand. Blood was matting his hair, and he grinned almost as madly as Undertaker as he pulled his hand away to examine the crimson stain. "Have I persuaded you after all, old friend?"

"You've persuaded me to give you a beating," answered the funeral director, "but not to kill you. I've already said—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Dedrich came at him again in an astonishing rush, and this time, Undertaker wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the strike. He heard the rending of cloth, followed by the sharp sting of metal cutting into his flesh. He blocked the next attack with his scythe, and for a moment, the two Shinigami exiles stared into each other's eyes. They broke away and upon seeing Undertaker stagger and clutch at his left thigh, Dedrich lowered his weapon.

"You aren't ready," announced the Viennese reaper. He tilted his head and watched as Undertaker straightened up slowly, his robes quickly growing damp with his blood. "But eventually, I think you will be. Perhaps these will help."

Fischer reached into his cloak for a rectangular case, which he tossed to Undertaker. The silver-haired Shinigami caught it impulsively, more puzzled than he cared to admit. Dedrich didn't seem interested in attacking him anymore, so he opened the case. Inside, he found a familiar pair of Shinigami-made glasses. They had silver half-frames and rectangular lenses. He thought they couldn't possibly be the pair he thought they were, but upon checking the engraving on the temple bar, it certainly seemed that way.

"I collected them from confiscation before I left," Fischer explained. "As a memento, if I never saw you again, or to return them to you if by some miracle you survived. As impressive as you are without your glasses, imagine how deadly you could be with them. You're welcome."

Undertaker looked up from the eyewear, just in time to watch Dedrich form a portal and vanish to Styx knew where. He took an impulsive step toward him, but his leg buckled and he had to use his scythe as a crutch to keep from falling. He dropped his glasses and he painfully knelt to retrieve them. Struggling back to his feet, he examined the glasses in the moonlight, before shrugging and trying them on.

They were his glasses, custom made for him alone. They fit his head perfectly, and the lenses were his prescription. He lifted his bangs and blinked as the world suddenly came into sharp focus all around him. As much as he hated the symbolism he'd come to associate with the special glasses, he had to admit it was a treat to be able to see so clearly again. He sighed and reluctantly removed them, collecting the case on the ground. He put them into the case and pocketed them, absently patting the spot. He wanted to search for his hat, but he was starting to get dizzy from blood loss and he knew if he left his injury untended for too long, he could end up permanently in his coffin.

"I was just getting used to that one, too."

* * *

_-To be continued _


	12. Chapter 12

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 12: Purging infection

**_Author's note: This chapter is work-safe and has been heavily censored to comply with FFnet's anti-yaoi hypocrisy. You can read the full, uncensored version complete with sex scene at Archive of our own or Ygallery-both of which are linked under my profile page here. _**_The final scene stretched out longer than expected, but Ciel and Sebastian's relationship and circumstances are so complex, it wouldn't have felt right not to put in all of those little details. I also referenced some manga canon in this chapter, because I really like a certain character from it that did not appear in the anime._

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

William was roused from sleep by the sound of a muffled curse, coming from the other side of the door adjoining the two suites together. He frowned and opened his eyes, disoriented. He was laying on his back, naked under the sheets with a contented, oblivious redhead half-lying on top of him. He got a little scare when he realized Grell wasn't breathing, but a quick poke in the ribs provoked a muttered complaint and a sigh, assuring him that he was indeed asleep, and not dead. While breathing wasn't necessary for Shinigami to live, Grell was one of the only reapers Will knew that regularly chose _not_ to breathe, or simply stopped doing it while asleep. He'd been mistaken for a corpse on more than one occasion, thanks to that.

He heard another pained oath, and he recognized the hushed voice as Undertaker's. Concerned, he gently rolled Grell off of him and got out of bed, reaching for his robe and glasses. After securing the garment around his nudity and putting the glasses on, he slid his feet into his slippers and he crossed the room to the door. He rapped lightly on it with his knuckles, pressing his ear to the door.

"Undertaker, it's Spears. Is everything all right?"

It took a moment for the other Shinigami to answer, and when he did, his voice came out unusually strained. "Yes, yes...everything's fine. Pay no attention to me."

William hesitated, but he didn't want to offend his idol, so he started to turn and go back to the bed. Another pained curse gave him pause, and he looked at the door with suspiciously narrowed eyes. "Are you certain there's nothing I can help you with?"

"No...no. I have it all taken...care of." The sentence ended in a grunt.

William sighed, and his eyes went to his long coat, hanging by the hallway door. He went over to it and he retrieved his copy of the keys from it, before returning to the adjoining door. "Forgive my belligerence, but everything doesn't sound 'fine' and frankly, I'm concerned."

William unlocked the door and he cracked it open to peer into the neighboring suite. He went still as a statue at the sight of Undertaker, absence of hat, pants and boots. He had his robes hitched up and he sat in a chair near the hearth, tending a nasty looking gash in his thigh. He had his bangs pinned back, and he was wearing a pair of silver, rectangular framed glasses as he cleaned the wound with a damp cloth. He'd set out a bowl beneath the chair to collect the blood that was dripping from his injury, and the supply bag he'd brought with him sat on the coffee table—which he'd dragged close to his chair.

William stepped into the room impulsively, not bothering to ask for invitation. Undertaker looked up from his task and he gave him a sickly, almost sheepish grin. His pallor was even more pronounced than usual—not the compelling ivory tone William was used to, but an ashen tone that suggested too much blood loss.

"You young people and your selective hearing," sighed Undertaker, but he didn't look angry, so much as exhausted.

Even sick with his injury and sweating, he looked beautiful to William, and the dispatch supervisor frowned with self-annoyance over admiring the man at a time like this. He approached silently, looking at the dreadful wound with somber concern.

"That was made by a death scythe," he observed with certainty. Had any other weapon made the cut, it would have healed on its own within moments. William noticed a couple of other scars on Undertaker's legs that he'd never seen before, all appearing to have been sutured at some point without the benefit of special Shinigami medicine.

Undertaker followed his gaze and he nodded, his grin broadening into a more handsome expression of amusement. "I've lived through worse, Mr. Spears. Yes, it was made by a death scythe."

"What happened?" demanded William.

"I had a run in with our friend, if you hadn't already guessed. He sought me out in the graveyard and we got into a row. He escaped, unfortunately."

William frowned at him. "He sought you out to fight you? It seems he holds a grudge against you for collaborating with us, then."

"It's more complicated than that, I'm afraid." Undertaker regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, before shrugging and speaking again. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you. He wants me to kill him."

The brunet's eyes widened a bit, but he schooled his expression into careful neutrality again quickly. "Why?"

"Because he wants to meet his maker on his own terms. He wants me to bring him there. Everything he's done since resurfacing has been about attracting attention. He predicted the organization might seek out my help once they discovered his identity, and he was right."

William lowered his eyes in thought. It wasn't so surprising, really. Some Shinigami longed for death, but shunned suicide. The solution for them was usually extreme recklessness, or going rogue until reaper authorities were forced to…

"I see. He attempted to force your hand."

"Attempted and failed," answered the Undertaker. "I won't have my hand forced."

William nodded in understanding, expecting no less from this reaper. "Then what do you intend to do?"

The funeral director shrugged again. "Right now, I intend to see to this and get some rest. I'd like to give your people the chance to handle this situation, before I draw my scythe on him again." He reached for a black glass bottle sitting on the coffee table next to the supply bag, the little tray of medical instruments and various other jars and bottles.

"Is that antiseptic?" guessed William as he uncorked the bottle.

Undertaker shook his head and brought the bottle to his lips. "Brandy."

William looked at the bleeding injury again as the older reaper took a few swallows of the drink and shuddered. "We should take you to headquarters. The medical ward will see to that and you'll be—"

"No."

Not really surprised by the response or the firmness of it, William sighed. It was worth a try. "Then let us assist. Tell us what to do to help you."

Undertaker lowered the bottle and watched him thoughtfully for a moment, while his blood slowly dripped into the bowl. He offered the brandy to him, along with a little smile. "Have a drink and be ready to hand me the things I require, then. Call your associate in here, if you insist."

He left hastily, feeling that amused gaze on his back as he stepped through the adjoining door. His doubts about where Undertaker's loyalties lay were assuaged, at least for now. From what he'd seen, the injury matched the cuts on all of Fischer's previous victims. It was highly unlikely that Undertaker had inflicted that wound on himself with his own scythe. The details could wait, though.

* * *

Grell was cranky over being woken up after enjoying such a glorious sexual encounter and afterglow, but when William explained what happened, he perked up with interest and dragged his robe on to join him. He wandered sleepily into the adjoining suite, and when he saw Undertaker's state, he was admittedly fascinated. The long, pale legs were exposed to reveal lean musculature and yet more scars. It didn't take away from the man's appeal. If anything, the scars made him more compelling to Grell.

The next thing the redhead noticed as William went to his side to assist him was that Undertaker was wearing a pair of glasses he'd never seen before. It wasn't important, really, but something about them drew Grell's eye and he frowned, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.

"I don't recall ever seeing you wear those before," he remarked as he approached, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

"They're new. Would you mind fetching another bowl from the dining area, Mr. Sutcliff? I'm afraid I've nearly filled this one, and there's more blood to come, before I'm finished."

Grell looked at the bowl, then at his lover. He saw the tension in William's face as the brunet prepared some sort of paste mixture for Undertaker in a bowl. "Of course." He went to retrieve the item and as he brought it to Undertaker, he thought he'd never looked more the part of a fallen death god.

Grell squatted by the chair, sliding the full bowl away and replacing it with the empty one. He impulsively reached out to trace a scar on the Undertaker's right calf before getting back up, and he made another observation.

"Only death scythes would have left scarring like this. Hmm." He glanced up the length of the leg and he blushed when he noticed how far up the silver-haired reaper's black garments were hiked. Just a little more, and he might catch a glimpse of—

William smacked Grell smartly on the back of the head, interrupting his lecherous thoughts and reminding him of the situation. Undertaker used a syringe to squirt antiseptic into the open cut, and he hissed. Grell forgot about the temptation to have a peek up his robes, and he got to his feet. William glanced at the Undertaker with faint concern, but he dutifully continued mixing the paste. Not usually one for compassion, Grell reached for one of the unused hand towels on the coffee table. He wiped the sweat from Undertaker's pale brow with it, and he got a smile out of him as a reward for his attentive actions.

"You'd make a good nurse," said Undertaker. His gaze lingered briefly on Grell, before he replaced the syringe on the tray and reached for a sterile cloth. He laid it over the cut and pressed down, grimacing and smiling at the same time. "Would you mind keeping pressure on this while I get the suturing needle ready, Mr. Sutcliff?"

The opportunity to put his hands on Undertaker's thigh was enough to convince Grell. He grinned, imagining himself in a nurse uniform as he tended to the wounded Shinigami. "I'd love to." He glanced up at Will as he laid his palms over the bandage and pressed down. "What is that goop you're mixing, Will?"

"It's to help seal the cut and prevent infection, once I get it sutured," Undertaker answered absently. He removed the needle from the solution he'd had it resting in, and he began to thread it. Grell watched in fascination, wondering how he could do such delicate work without his long fingernails getting in the way.

William lowered the bowl for Undertaker's inspection. "How is this?"

The elder Shinigami examined the paste and he sucked his teeth in thought. "Add a few more drops of water. It's still a tad too thick."

William nodded and dutifully moved to comply, his handsome face a mask of studious concentration. Grell almost teased him, but he considered how important the reaper they were attending was to William, and he refrained. If only the uptight ninny would loosen up, he might earn the affections of his crush in return. Right now, Grell had the distinct impression that William's rigid work ethic was a bit of a turn-off for the fun-loving funeral director.

Upon sudden inspiration, Grell decided to chat up his lover. "Will is a good listener, isn't he?" He smiled up at the brunet fondly. "He contradicts himself, though."

Undertaker finished threading the needle, and he spared a somewhat interested glance William's way. "How so?"

Grell shrugged. "Well, he's always going on about being on time for work, not slacking off, blah, blah, blah." He ignored the warning glance William shot at him and he went on. "But the real reason he's like that is because he hates working overtime. Will isn't the ambitious workaholic he claims to be, you know. He was a 'B' student, when we were training together. I was the 'A' student, but Will here admitted to me that he only put forth as much effort as was required to pass. He's a closet slacker." Grell winked at his lover, who was now flushed with embarrassment as Undertaker looked at him.

"Really? My, my...that does put an interesting spin on your character, Mr. Spears. I thought I might have imagined the empathy in your tone, when we talked about people scrambling for approval. Perhaps there's more to you than I first thought."

William began stirring the paste faster, compressing his lips.

"Mm-hm," Grell said with a wink. "He's not as much of a stick in the mud as he'd have us all think. There's fire beneath that icy exterior."

"You must have learned how to melt it," reasoned Undertaker with a grin. "He seemed to have trouble loosening up even with a few drinks in him."

"Oh, that was because he wanted to impress you," explained Grell. "He didn't want to get sloppy drunk in front of you, because he respects you."

"I think we've talked about me quite enough," William said tightly.

Grell sighed, and he spoke in a conspiring tone to Undertaker. "I've embarrassed him."

"You're very good at that," muttered William.

"I'm only trying to get you to come out of that shell of yours," defended Grell. "If you were human, I'd say you're on your way to an early grave with all of this needless stress you take in!"

"Well, I'm not human and we have more important matters to worry about," snapped William. "Focus on the task at hand."

Undertaker chuckled softly, and then he coughed. Both of the younger reapers looked at him with concern, and he waved it off. "I'm fine. You two are a pleasant distraction. Very amusing. Now, Grell, remove the bandage so I can start. William, put the paste down and hand over the brandy. You've done a fine job mixing it, and I believe it's done."

William did as asked, and Grell took the pressure off the wound. Undertaker took another couple of swallows of the drink, before corking it and handing it back to William. He noticed the disturbed look on the brunet's face, and he gazed up at him questioningly. "What is it, Mr. Spears?"

"I'm just concerned over the blood thinning properties of the alcohol," answered William with a glance at the seeping cut. "I'm no doctor, but couldn't it make you bleed more?"

Undertaker smirked. "Undoubtedly, but I have nothing to numb this with, and as much as I can appreciate pain, even I need to take the edge off. Now have a drink and stay out of my light, while I finish this."

Grell sighed a bit at the thought of more scars on that pearly white flesh, but on Undertaker, they were more like exotic markings than something distasteful.

William looked away as the needle punctured the skin surrounding the cut, but Grell watched with interest as the Undertaker began to suture it with deft skill. Crude though the method seemed compared to Shinigami medicine, he couldn't deny that Undertaker had a knack for sewing up torn flesh. He looked at him when he heard a hiss of pain issue from his lips, but Undertaker was grinning happily, even as he pushed the needle in for the second pass.

"Another drink?" offered Grell, holding the bottle out.

Undertaker shook his head. "No, it's best that I keep going and finish this, before the pain starts to annoy me."

Undertaker made another low sound of discomfort, and William looked down at him with concern he couldn't mask. He started to reach out for the silver-haired Shinigami, but he hesitated, hovering his hand over his shoulder uncertainly. Grell silently urged him to keep going, and he groaned softly and rolled his eyes when the brunet withdrew his hand.

"You ninny," muttered Grell.

William frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

Grell nodded at Undertaker meaningfully. "You know."

William followed his gaze, and he shook his head subtly. The reaper in question was absorbed in suturing his injury up, and he no longer seemed to care what they said to each other. He parted his lips, but he couldn't seem to find words for a rebuttal. He looked at Undertaker again and he compressed his lips. Grell could see his inward struggle as his Ice Prince reached out again to lay a comforting hand on the older reaper's shoulder. Grell smiled in satisfaction when the hand settled on its target, almost reverently.

_~My poor William is so smitten.~_

He knew how that felt, though, and he couldn't blame him. Grell just expressed his attractions a bit more openly than William did. Maybe he could help him get what he wanted, with a bit of time, patience and plotting. He didn't mind sharing him with Undertaker, even after just having finally bedded him. It was hard to be jealous of a reaper that he wanted to sleep with, himself.

* * *

When he finished suturing his injury, Undertaker spread the medicinal paste over it and he bandaged it up. He gave his younger companions a smile, unaware that his lips were colorless, now.

"There, all finished," he announced. He felt dizzy, but he didn't want to alarm them and end up with both of them trying to convince him to seek Shinigami medical aid. "No need to fret. I could use some assistance with the cleanup, if you don't mind."

"Of course," agreed William immediately.

Grell was already collecting one of the bowls to carry it to the bathroom and dump the blood down the sink. He paused and looked over his shoulder at his brunet companion. "Will, why don't you help him into bed while I do this? I'm sure he needs rest, after such a trial."

"I…agree," answered William. He looked at Undertaker uncertainly as the older Shinigami rearranged his robes, letting them fall over his legs again to conceal them. "That is, if you don't mind, Undertaker."

Driven as much by curiosity as good manners, Undertaker nodded. He took his glasses off and replaced them in their case, and then he removed the hairpins holding his bangs back. He pocketed all of the items and he allowed William to help him up out of the chair. He grunted a bit when he tested his weight on his injured leg, but he was confident it would heal up in a day or so. As he'd told his companions earlier: he'd lived through worse. He'd survived nearly being sliced to ribbons, in fact.

"I could visit the pharmacy at headquarters to get something for the pain, at least," William offered as he supported the taller reaper's weight and assisted his limping steps.

Undertaker chuckled. "That won't be necessary. There's a tonic in my bag that I can take for pain, if it gets too uncomfortable."

They stopped before the bed and before removing his arm from around William's shoulders, Undertaker leaned in close and murmured into his ear. "Your help is most appreciated, Mr. Spears."

The blush that his tone provoked both amused and delighted him, but his thigh was paining him in an irritating way, throbbing and burning beneath the bandages. It was spoiling his play.

"Fischer will probably go quiet for a while," predicted Undertaker as he lay down on the bed.

William drew the sheets over him, and his gaze met Undertaker's. "How do you know that?"

"Because, he said I'm not ready." Undertaker closed his eyes and sighed. "If I know Dedrich, he wants his passing from this world to be epic. He thinks I need time to hone my skills before he challenges me again."

William gazed at him evenly, his face impressively neutral. "And will you? Hone your skills, that is?"

Undertaker smirked and shut his eyes. "Yes, but not for the reasons he thinks. I don't like to be told what to do, Mr. Spears…and I don't much care for the thought of ending one of the only reapers left alive who's as old as I am."

He snickered behind his hand, but it turned into a yawn. He turned onto his side and he winced when the motion pained his leg. William looked down at the limb, covered by Undertaker's black robes. "You should change into a nightshirt and leave the leg exposed, so it can be monitored. It wouldn't do for these robes to get stuck to the wound if it bleeds through the dressing, overnight."

"Hmm. The idea has merit, but right now, I just want to sleep."

When William's attractive features betrayed a frown of concern, Undertaker sighed. "You worry too much. I promise, if a problem arises that I can't handle, I'll let you know."

Grell came out of the bathroom then, and he watched the two of them curiously as he finished wiping his hands off on a cloth. "It's done." His gaze swept over William, and he smiled in a lecherous manner. "Is Will taking good care of you?"

Undertaker chuckled, more amused by the scandalized look on William's face than Grell's insinuation. "Indeed. Now if you'll both pardon me, I could use some shut eye."

Grell winked at the Undertaker, and he blew him a kiss. "Sweet dreams! Come on Will, let's give the man some privacy. I'll need you to help me get back to sleep."

William jumped when the redhead not-so-subtly gave his bottom a pat, and then linked his arm through his. He gave Undertaker a respectful nod, his expression dignified even though his cheeks were coloring. "Please let us know if you require anything, Undertaker. Goodnight."

* * *

The Shinigami investigation team kept in contact with Ciel and Sebastian, exchanging information as their efforts went on. As Undertaker predicted, Fischer went quiet for a while and Ciel's underworld contacts had more to report than before. It seemed that the rogue made more appearances in said underworld dealings when he wasn't actively murdering people, but he was so good at covering his tracks that the best they could do was confirm that he was at least still in Paris.

Ciel talked about it with Sebastian as they did their daily training exercises, five days after Undertaker's encounter with Fischer. He ducked under Sebastian's swing and he succeeded in temporally displacing himself, vanishing from one spot to reappear in another. Unfortunately, Sebastian had ages of experience on him and he'd anticipated the move. He blocked Ciel's retaliatory strike, and they backed off and circled one another, watching for openings.

"They should be embarrassed, taking so long to track down a single fugitive," Ciel decided at length. He kept his tone casual as he waited for a gap in his opponent's defenses. "Perhaps we should take a greater hand in the case. It never took us so long to complete an investigation, regardless of its outcome."

Sebastian arched a brow. "Oh? Consider how long it took for us to complete your goal, young master. We had no idea the Crown was involved until the very end. Learning that there was an angel involved took the better part of a year. Discovering that angel had two separate identities and exacting your vengeance upon it took even longer. Perhaps we oughtn't brag about how much more quickly we take care of our business, hmm?"

Ciel's annoyance only lasted as long as it took for him to notice that his butler had let his guard down, during his speech. It only lasted for a couple of heartbeats, but it was enough for Ciel. He moved faster than the blink of an eye, and his bare foot connected solidly with Sebastian's solar plexus. The taller demon's breath escaped in a rush and he staggered back, momentarily taken by surprise by Ciel's move. The young man wasted no time, pressing the attack with near desperation while his opponent was off-guard.

"You do have a penchant for fighting dirty," accused Sebastian with a soft grunt as he blocked Ciel's chopping hand and turned aside from his kicking foot.

"You didn't call a time-out," reminded Ciel with a smirk, panting softly with exertion. "You left an opening and that made you fair game."

He expected an objection, followed by a lecture in sportsmanship. Instead, Sebastian smiled at him in that half-sly, half-sensual way of his, and he nodded at him. "Now you sound like a proper predator, my lord. Allow me to respond in kind."

Ciel sensed it coming, but he wasn't fast enough. A vile curse escaped his tense lips as Sebastian turned the tables on him, rapidly putting him on the defense. Ciel barely managed to deflect and avoid the incoming strikes, and he could tell his butler was still holding back. It was humbling, and his sense of accomplishment quickly diminished under the whirlwind assault. Every time he thought he was starting to catch up to Sebastian's combat prowess, he was reminded of how far he had yet to go. Either he got an ass kicking, or he caught Sebastian slacking off and letting him win a round.

Angered by his own limitations, Ciel almost allowed his frustration to blind him. One didn't win a game of strategy by getting emotional, though. He couldn't match Sebastian in strength or speed, but perhaps he didn't need to. Sebastian expected Ciel to displace himself behind him, when using temporal shifts to try and gain an advantage. Maybe it was time to alter his tactics.

He concentrated on a spot in the far corner of the sunlit room, and he vanished just as Sebastian's foot was about to connect with his side. It took him a second to orient himself in his new location—it always did, but he was getting better at it. During that brief moment, he experienced the rare pleasure of watching his servant look utterly surprised as he turned on his heel and kicked out at the empty air behind him. Sebastian's crimson gaze met Ciel's across the distance, and Ciel smirked and waved at him.

Not one to hesitate for long, Sebastian closed in on him quickly...but Ciel relocated to the opposite side of the room, once more. He couldn't hold back a laugh when his servant gave him a blatantly annoyed look, and he waited for Sebastian to come for him. When he did, Ciel took a gamble that he would be expecting him to displace himself to another far corner of the room, and he instead relocated just behind the butler. His guess paid off. Sebastian whirled, searching for him against the walls, and he went stiff with complete surprise when Ciel acted on sudden mischievous impulse and let his hands do as they wished, before relocating once again.

Sebastian's surprise wore off quickly, and he vanished from the young man's sight. Ciel sensed his presence behind him, but he was so amused by his own antics that he failed to react in time. He was grabbed, twirled around and roughly shoved against the wall. Sebastian's face was a cold mask of perfect ivory, mere inches away from his own. The sensual lips parted to speak, curving into a little smile.

"Well done, master. You've finally begun to compensate for your weakness by using your wits. I approve…though I question your method of groping your opponent as a valid attack plan."

"It put you off your guard, didn't it? And I'm not _that_ weak." Ciel struggled futilely to break free of Sebastian's hold on him.

"In comparison to what, exactly?" Sebastian's grin reminded Ciel of a cat toying with a mouse, and the butler's handsome face loomed closer. "You need only ask me to release you, if you can't break free on your own."

Ciel strained and huffed, his sense of accomplishment rapidly fading with the humiliating ease at which Sebastian kept him pinned against the wall. "I can break free if I want."

"Then perhaps you should demonstrate for me," insisted the butler with a wink. "Do so, and I promise I'll never pressure you to feed again."

"You were…supposed to stop doing that…anyhow," reminded Ciel, grunting with exertion. "Damn it, Sebastian, this isn't funny!"

"I'll let go in an instant, if you admit you can't break my hold." The ruby gaze was intense on him, and the irises began to glow tellingly. "Show me that you aren't weakening, my lord."

Ciel groaned softly. There was really no getting around it; displacing himself so much had drained him. He could feel his strength bleeding out of him as if from an open wound, and he started to feel dizzy. He blinked to clear his vision of spots, and he panted softly.

"Seb…Sebastian," he murmured faintly as his ears began to ring.

At once, the butler released him and scooped him up, cradling him close to his chest. His features bore subtle concern as he gazed down at Ciel's suddenly pasty complexion. "You've taxed yourself. Let's get you out of this sparring uniform and into bed."

Ciel felt a tickle in his chest, and he frowned in annoyance. He thought he was finished with asthma attacks for good, but apparently wearing himself out like this could still provoke one. "I still have matters of the estate to go over," he argued.

Sebastian shook his head, carrying him through the open archway of the sparring room and into the corridor. "Not today, master. You exerted a great deal more energy today than your body is used to, and I apologize for my part in that. You need rest."

"But—"

"The paperwork will still be there tomorrow," interrupted Sebastian firmly, glancing down at him, "and there was nothing of immediate importance. It can wait."

Ciel would have dearly loved to argue with him, but he was feeling shaky and a little sick, the way he used to when he went too long without food as a human. He recognized it as demon starvation and he frowned unhappily.

"I'll only get worse again, if I don't feed. Won't I?"

Sebastian paused at the foot of the stairs, and his gaze softened a little on him. "I suspect you will, my lord. I've been trying to tell you as much, but you refused to listen. You're still too young a demon to go without feeding indefinitely, but I leave it up to you."

Ciel lowered his gaze. He'd truly hoped to see the end of his need to devour souls to survive, but he didn't want to end up a helpless invalid. "Then perhaps tomorrow night, we can go hunting together."

Sebastian's face relaxed into a pleased little smile, and he nodded. "As you wish, my lord. I know how it grieves you to devour the souls of those you once shared mortality with, but it _does_ get easier, with time."

"Don't tell me _you_ had compunctions about it when you were young," snorted Ciel doubtfully.

Sebastian looked ahead, minding his steps as he began to carry Ciel up the stairs. "There may have been a time when I felt the occasional stirring of pity for my prey," he admitted. "It was long ago, when I was still learning."

"So even pure demons have regrets?" The revelation came as a surprise to Ciel. "I would have thought it just came naturally to you all, like any predator."

"Ah, but other predators tend to have less complex mental capabilities," reminded Sebastian. "Though we demons are more evolved than humans, we aren't that dissimilar in our capacity to feel. I never suffered regret when I fed, but I did on occasion feel pity. Humans can be pathetic to the point of being revolting, but some of them shine more brightly than others. The more they suffer, the less satisfying the meal. This is why freely given souls are so much more enjoyable to consume."

Ciel couldn't argue with that. He avoided devouring the souls of the lowest of evil people now, and he deliberately sought out people that were already dying and tired of living—people who no longer had spiritual faith, or who simply wanted to fall into eternal rest when they died. He never would have believed it possible for demons to feel compassion or love, when he first summoned Sebastian and bartered his soul to him.

* * *

Ciel spent the rest of the day resting, at Sebastian's insistence. It was difficult to be irritated with all the pampering, especially when Sebastian lapsed into addressing him by his given name. Sebastian finished reading up on most of his paperwork for him and writing the necessary correspondence, while Ciel rested in bed. He served him tea at sunset and he summarized all that he'd done his stead.

"There are still two documents that require your personal attention," explained Sebastian in closing. "Tanaka requested that you contact him by phone once you've read them, so that you can tell him directly what you want him to do."

Ciel took a sip of his tea before answering. "You told me earlier that there was nothing pressing."

"Indeed," answered the butler with a nod. "This is only a small matter of salary rates, and a small delay won't make a difference."

"Good." Ciel was pleased with the news. Profits were back up again, and the quality of production had increased as well. It seemed they had ironed out most of the kinks. He detested complications in the family business. "What news is there on the household?"

Sebastian smirked. "Much the same as always. Baldroy set the kitchen on fire over the weekend and Finnian brought home a new pet—a pony he found wandering injured in the fields. Tanaka assures that he has a much better handle on his strength these days. As for Mey-Rin…she's found a suitor."

Ciel paused with his cup halfway to his lips. "Oh? How serious is it?"

"It's fairly new, from what I understand," answered Sebastian.

"Do we know him?" It wasn't really his business who any of his previous servants had romantic relations with, but old habits died hard.

"Indeed, we do. It's Snake."

Ciel choked on the sip of tea he'd just taken. "Wha…_Snake_?" The reclusive, peculiar snake handler was once a carnie in Noah's Ark Circus, but after an unfortunate conflict, Ciel took him in as a footman. The man was pathologically shy, and he only spoke "through" his serpent companions.

"That's exactly what I said, master." Sebastian smiled with amusement. "It came as some surprise to me as well, but Tanaka says they quite enjoy one another's company. He believes there could be wedding bells, in the future."

Ciel considered the information, and he shrugged. "I suppose she could have done worse for herself. At least he'll never judge her for her abilities or her…ahem…eccentric personality."

Sebastian chuckled softly. "No, I suppose he won't. Lady Elizabeth is doing well, too."

"That's good. And the wedding?"

"It's still scheduled for late this spring, my lord."

Ciel stared into the steaming liquid in his cup thoughtfully. "So soon. Pity I can't meet her betrothed and assess his personality myself."

"True, but we've found no evidence of underworld dealings in Duke Fitzgerald's records, he doesn't mistreat his staff and Elizabeth seems to like him well enough."

Ciel nodded. "Yes, and at least he's not an old lecher. I suppose I'll just have to have faith that this is going to be a good match. Continue to have him watched, even after the wedding. I want to be one-hundred percent satisfied that this man will be good to Lizzy, before I stop monitoring the situation."

Sebastian bowed at the waist. "Of course, master. If you'll excuse me, I'll finish my household duties. Shall I draw you a proper bath, while I do that?"

Ciel looked down at his nightshirt-clad body. He'd only sponged off after his exercises, because he worried he might pass out in the tub. Sebastian could have helped him, but he stubbornly refused to be babied that way.

"Please do. I could use a real bath."

"Right away, sir."

Ciel watched him go, and he found himself annoyed with the coattails that covered Sebastian's derriere, hiding it from view. While the suit looked stunning on him, Ciel sometimes longed to see him in something a bit more casual…preferably something that didn't cover his ass up. His pulse quickened as he observed the butler's graceful steps, and he smiled into his drink as he sipped it again. Sebastian had been so patient with him, never making demands that another lover might have made, by now.

Sometimes Ciel wondered if that was partially due to the Faustian contract that bound him as his servant, but he knew by now that Sebastian had ways of skirting constraints, when he wanted to. He was also a master of seduction, and the young man flushed as he admitted to himself that if Sebastian had made full use of his charms and persisted enough, he could have had him by now. The fact that he hadn't was proof of his respect for Ciel…and the love that he'd admitted in his subtle way.

The thought of having that tall, lean body thrusting against him made Ciel a little breathless, and the color in his cheeks deepened as the sheets covering him to the waist began to tent in an obvious way. He wasn't so frightened anymore. He could touch Sebastian without hesitation now, and though his body still trembled uncontrollably when their kisses intensified and Sebastian's hands caressed his body, he believed he could keep going without panicking, if he'd just allow himself to.

Tonight was the night, Ciel decided.

* * *

He was feeling better after resting the day through, but he could feel his body's need for sustenance. Consuming human food would be like trying to drown hunger with water. It might give the illusion of fullness for a little while, but the nourishment wasn't there. After bathing and drying himself, Ciel retired to his bedroom and he selected a book from the shelf to read while he waited for his servant to come to him. He removed his robe and got into the bed naked, shivering a little. Sebastian had stirred the cokes to keep them burning while Ciel was bathing, but it was a small fireplace and it could only do so much to keep the room warm, as the nights grew colder. It didn't matter; Sebastian would soon be joining him, warming him with his body, his touches and his kisses.

He wanted to provoke a reaction in Sebastian…one that he still wasn't entirely sure was possible. Demons felt lust—Sebastian had already demonstrated that to him. Ciel wondered if he would react to pleasure the way humans did, or if as a pure demon, he didn't feel things the same way. Sebastian had explained to him before that his sense of taste was different from humans, so learning to prepare food for Ciel had been quite a challenge for him, in the beginning.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, distracting him from his thoughts. Ciel unconsciously pulled the covers up more securely around his body, and he reached for the book he'd brought to bed with him. He opened it and pretended to be reading as he called out for Sebastian to enter. The door opened and Sebastian stuck his raven head through it. Upon seeing Ciel in bed, he smiled softly and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"I trust master is feeling better?"

Ciel looked up from text that he couldn't even comprehend right now, thanks to his busy mind. He nodded. "Yes. I'm sure I'll feel even better tomorrow. I guess I didn't take into account how much it would drain me to use my powers that way today."

Sebastian nodded, his eyes roving over him with quiet appreciation. "You do make a charming picture." He raised his right hand to his mouth to tug the glove off of it with his teeth, keeping his gaze on Ciel all the while. He removed the other glove the same way, and Ciel forgot all about the book in his hands as he watched. How could such a simple act be so blasted erotic?

"Stop," Ciel said, his voice cracking a bit.

Sebastian paused in the act of removing his tie, his expression inquisitive. "Master?"

Ciel put the book on the beside table, and he pulled the covers aside. He got out of bed and he began his approach, completely nude. He blushed predictably under Sebastian's admiring stare, still a bit self-conscious of his body. He'd developed muscle tone as he matured, but he was still small in build, compared to others his age. He lacked Sebastian's height and smooth, graceful tone. The look in the butler's eyes assured him that Sebastian didn't care, though. For whatever reason, he seemed to favor Ciel's pale, small body. Perhaps demon standards of beauty were different, as well.

"I want the privilege of undressing you, tonight," Ciel said boldly. He stopped before the taller man and he rand his hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling the power of the warm, preternatural body beneath his palms. "I want to touch you, tonight. I mean…more intimately than I have before."

Sebastian smiled engagingly at him, his eyes lighting up and altering to their demonic state. "My body is yours to explore, of course. You know that you have my full cooperation."

Satisfied now that Sebastian wouldn't lie to him about his willingness, Ciel began to undress him. "I'm afraid I'm not as deft at working clothes as you are," he announced in a murmur, "so you'll have to be patient." He started with the tie first, tossing it carelessly away once he slipped it off.

Sebastian dipped his head and he brushed his lips over Ciel's cheek as he answered him. "That my master sees fit to undress me at all is a privilege I won't take for granted. How many servants can say they received such pampering, at their master's hand?"

"Only the exceptional ones," answered Ciel with a little smirk. He sighed unconsciously as he finished unbuttoning Sebastian's coat and shirt, and he parted the material to reveal his tight-muscled chest and stomach. He paused to admire the sight, swallowing his insecurity as he ran his fingertips lightly over the pectoral muscles. He looked up at Sebastian and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Kiss me."

"Gladly," answered the butler, and then his lips descended to Ciel's. He combed his fingers through the young man's dark, blue-highlighted hair, while caressing his jaw with his free hand. His tongue danced against Ciel's as it slid between his parted lips, making his stomach do a little flip. He didn't know exactly _how_ Sebastian did it, but every time he kissed him it felt like the world was tilting on its axis. Ciel responded eagerly to the motions of Sebastian's lips and tongue, his body quickly becoming aroused. In mere moments, his condition was quite obvious, and he mumbled into Sebastian's mouth as the butler put an arm around him and drew him close.

Feeling Sebastian's answering arousal pressing against his lower belly, Ciel suppressed a moan of excitement. The damnable quiver of fear predictably made its appearance again, as it always did at first whenever he and Sebastian shared intimate contact. Firmly reminding himself that this was a consensual encounter and he had complete, total control over how it advanced, Ciel tried to control his trembling. He slipped the suspenders over the taller man's shoulders, to leave them dangling from his pants. Sebastian obligingly dropped his arms as he started to remove his jacket and shirt, slipping out of the garments with ease. They landed on the floor at the butler's feet, and when he started to move to pick them up, Ciel shook his head.

"Leave them," insisted Ciel. "I want no distractions."

Sebastian smiled against his lips and resumed kissing him, offering no argument. He put his arms around Ciel and he stroked his back with slow, sensual motions. The young man trembled more under his touch, and he cursed himself for it. Sebastian didn't seem to mind. With the infinite patience that Ciel had come to expect from him, the demon kept his touch gentle and coaxing. The backs of his nails glided over Ciel's skin, drawing a shiver of delight from him to mingle with the nervous shivers he was already afflicted with.

Ciel struggled to undo Sebastian's pants and he didn't stop him when the butler helped with them. He walked backwards and took his hands, guiding him toward the bed insistently. Sebastian complied with his silent urgings, kissing him with greater passion. Ciel tugged his pants down over his lean hips, and Sebastian watched him with hot, crimson eyes as he knelt to pull them further down. Ciel's blush deepened when Sebastian's swollen erection was freed of the garment as he pulled it down to his knees. He refused to stop, however, and he knelt before the taller man as Sebastian sat down on the mattress. He almost forgot to remove his shoes and socks, before pulling the trousers off completely.

Now that his servant was completely naked, Ciel stood up again and he stared at him. Sebastian caressed his face, and his angular, sculpted features were unreadable. His fingertips glided over Ciel's cheek and jaw, before both hands stroked his naked shoulders and arms.

"Shall I get into bed?"

"Yes," agreed Ciel in a whisper. He waited for his companion to ease onto the bed and recline against the headboard, before climbing on and joining him. His lips sought out Sebastian's with determined passion.

"Lie down, please," Ciel murmured, kissing and nibbling Sebastian's seductive lips. When Sebastian did as asked, Ceil stretched out on top of him. He began to explore his nudity in ways he'd hesitated to do, until now. He paused uncertainly when his hand made it below Sebastian's bellybutton, and he lifted his head to gaze into his eyes.

"I…want to touch you," he reiterated, "more than a little graze. In fact…I want to do more than that."

"Oh?" Sebastian's touch remained patient and gentle as he caressed his chest, stomach and ribs. "Do you wish to join with me, master?"

Ciel again blushed, and he lowered his gaze impulsively before nodding. "Yes. I would like to…do that. First I want to know your body more intimately."

Sebastian reached up to cup the back of Ciel's head, guiding him down for another kiss. "Of course, master. Touch me at your leisure, and tell me what you wish me to do in return."

Ciel stopped the deft hand from drifting any lower down his body. "Not _that,_ for a start. I don't want to be distracted by your touch."

Sebastian smirked, and he threaded his fingers behind his head and relaxed, watching Ciel with lazy, heavy-lidded eyes. "Then in the interest of pleasing you, I shall refrain from touching you, for now."

* * *

Much later, when their passion had been appeased, Ciel lay exhausted on top of Sebastian. He couldn't think of anything to say as he laid his head on Sebastian's shoulder. His chest was feeling a bit tight again, but practiced the breathing technique he'd learned as a child, to help it clear up. He lifted his head off Sebastian's chest after a moment, and he watched his contented face with a little smile.

"Was I…satisfactory?"

"Very," assured Sebastian, cracking his eyes open lazily. "Considering your condition and inexperience, you put forth a most satisfying performance, master."

Pleased with the answer and knowing it was sincere, Ciel sighed and laid his cheek against his chest again. "I look forward to trying again to give you that, some day soon."

"There's no hurry," murmured the butler, and his hand resumed stroking Ciel's hair. "Savor each encounter for what it is, and the rest will come in time."

Ciel relaxed against him, worn out from the combination of first time lovemaking and first time use of demonic powers. He closed his eyes and he didn't even need to call slumber to him. The last thing he felt as he lost consciousness was Sebastian nuzzling his hair.

* * *

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 13: An elegant request

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. **

* * *

They ran through the streets of Paris, leaping over sleeping bums in alleyways, piles of trash and various clutter as they traversed the back streets of the poorer part of the city. foul water splashed as their shoes and boots struck puddles soiled with waste, and the redhead in the lead made a distressed sound and paused to shake his foot off. His younger companion kept going, passing him by with a little salute.

"Don't fall behind, Senpai! I see Alan and Eric up ahead!"

"I'll catch up to you," Grell assured, grimacing as he wiped some goo off the heel of his shoe on a nearby, cracked doorstep.

Ronald continued on, and he skidded to a halt when he nearly tripped over what he thought was just a shoe, lying in the alley. When he recognized it as Alan's and saw the pool of blood beneath it, he gave a start and called out to the brunet lying on the cobbles.

"Hey, is this your foot?"

The young man lying on his side looked up at the blond, his expression tense with pain. "If it's not, that would be a hell of a coincidence." Beside him, his slightly older, taller partner helped him to sit up.

"He got the jump on us," Eric said. "Go on ahead, Ron! Don't lose the trail!"

Ronald gave a nod, casting one last, sympathetic look at his injured colleague in passing. Alan watched him go before gesturing at his severed foot, lying a couple of yards away. "Bring that to me, would you?"

Eric started to comply, but then Grell arrived and he picked up the shoe and the foot inside of it. Seeing Alan lying there with a bleeding stump where his foot used to be, he approached and offered it to him.

"You really _are_ a mess. You should phase out and visit the Society infirmary, before that starts to fester."

"Yeah," grunted Alan in agreement. "I almost had him."

"Just get that reattached and healed," pressed Eric as Grell ran on, hurrying to catch up with his protégé. "I'll come with you."

"No." Alan shook his head and looked at him with a sickly smirk. "We're already laughingstocks for letting this guy elude us for so long. Go help them bring him down, okay? I can manage on my own."

"I...don't want to leave you like this," said Eric uncertainly.

"I'll be fine," insisted Alan as he reached for his pocket watch. "Go! Get him for me."

A woman's high, shrill scream echoed through the alleyway from somewhere up ahead, where Fischer and his pursuit had gone. Both partners looked in the direction of the sound, and Alan nudged Eric with his elbow. "Go after him!"

Reluctantly, the taller officer got up and started off to join the others. He paused to look back at Alan, his expression the very picture of indecisive torture. Alan gave him an encouraging nod, and he created the rift that would take him to Headquarters.

"Go on," he called once more.

With a visible sigh, Eric obeyed. There was a flash of light in the alley behind him as his partner left the mortal plane, but he ran on without looking back. He caught up with Ronald, and he gave the other blond an openly confused look when he found him gasping for breath, with his hands on his knees.

"Where did Sutcliff go?"

"Up...roof," Ron answered, pointing a gloved finger up at the top of the building across from them. Eric followed the gesture with his eyes, and when he looked back at Ronald, he noticed there was blood staining his lips and the white of his collar.

"What happened to you?"

"He kicked me in the face as I tried to follow him up the fire escape," answered Ron dryly, spitting out blood. "Come on, let's climb up and go after Grell."

"Are you okay to do that?" Eric asked seriously, eyeing him with doubt. "You look unsteady on your feet."

"I was just a little dazed," answered Ronald stubbornly. He de-manifested the mower beside him for later use, and he went to the ladder leading up. "You coming or not?"

"Just as soon as you make room for me," promised Eric.

* * *

"Where the hell _are_ you, Will?" The crimson reaper had been painted even redder when his quarry sliced a hapless prostitute open and threw her at him, splattering his face and clothes with her blood. That in itself didn't trouble him, but some of it was smearing the lens of his glasses and making it difficult to see clearly.

Grell leaped over another rooftop, keeping his eyes on the billowing cape of the fleeing reaper up ahead of him. He noticed that they were quickly running out of rooftops of this height, as he and the others herded Fischer through the city. They were entering the newer parts of Paris, where the buildings were taller—too tall to leap onto in a single jump. Soon, the fugitive would either have to try and double-back, or he'd be forced to jump to the ground and take to the streets again. Grell had no idea where Undertaker went, in addition to his missing lover. William gave the order to pursue and detain him while he phoned in the most recent location of Fischer to Headquarters, and Undertaker hadn't woken up yet.

There was a strange feeling of Deja Vu to this pursuit, and Grell's abdomen throbbed with remembered, phantom pain as he recalled the last time he'd gotten this close to the rogue at sunset.

"We won't be repeating that performance," he promised his target as he closed in on him. "This time, you'll meet DEATH!"

Unfortunately, the back of Fischer's head couldn't appreciate the hand gesture Grell made at it. Still, as if it had cursed him, the fleeing villain stopped. He'd run out of building tops to leap to—or at least those he could reach with any ease. Having ridden his own death scythe up the side of a tower on more than one occasion, Grell knew it wouldn't take long for the rogue to find another path.

He didn't waste any time. He took a flying leap at him, his chainsaw buzzing and leading the way as he arched toward his opponent. Dedrich turned and dove hastily aside, losing the trailing end of his cape to the chainsaw. Grell followed up quickly, trying to keep him on the defensive. His weapon had greater reach, but the rogue's was lighter and faster. Not to mention, Dedrich had well over a thousand years of experience on Grell—which he demonstrated with his snake-like reflexes.

"Oh!" shouted the redhead when he lost a thick lock of hair to the sweeping retaliatory attack. "Again! How _dare_ you!" He kicked out at Fischer the minute he saw an opening, and he felt some satisfaction when the sharp heel of his boot connected solidly with the blond's abdomen, making him grunt in pain.

"Mm-hmm, let's see how you like it!" Grell swung the whining blade of his chainsaw down and at an angle, cutting a gash in Fischer's shoulder. It wasn't where he'd intended to strike, but with as fast as the man moved, he was thankful to even hit him.

"Grell, we're coming!"

The redhead ignored Eric's call, knowing that the slightest distraction could cost him his edge. He attacked in a fury, driving Fischer back until he was at the very edge of the roof. Upon realizing how close he was, the fugitive narrowed his eyes at Grell and suddenly found his second wind. All the chasing after him they'd done through the city apparently hadn't worn him out quite enough, and he retaliated with a vengeance. Now it was Grell's turn to be put on the defensive as the circular blade arched out, seeking vital areas. He blocked one attack with his death scythe, and he hopped away in the nick of time to avoid having his stomach opened up again.

There was a flash of silver as a pole shot down from out of nowhere and rammed into Fischer's left shoulder, foiling his next attack and probably saving Grell another severe injury. It took a moment for the redhead to recognize it as William's death scythe, and he followed the pole from the now bleeding shoulder it was embedded in to the top of a taller building, right next to the one they were currently on top of. William stood with an impassive look on his comely face, but his eyes were narrowed dangerously at the man he now had pinned below him. Undertaker came up beside him and watched silently, his thoughts impossible to tell with all that hair covering his eyes.

"Gentlemen, disarm him," he called.

Eric and Ronald—both now thoroughly out of breath—made it to Grell's side.

"By command...Shinigami Dispatch...Society," panted Eric, "You are ordered...relinquish your death scythe and glasses..."

"Oh, really?" Dedrich's teeth flashed white behind the high collar of his cape as he grinned aggressively. He moved suddenly, turning to the side and throwing William off-balance. With the pressure off of the clipper imbedded into him, he was able to yank it free.

Grell moved first to stop him, and his two exhausted companions followed up. William leaped down from the taller roof he'd been standing on, and upon landing, he extended his pruning pole again in an attempt to spear the fleeing rogue. It slammed into the cement at Fischer's feet, barely missing his ankles. He reached the other side of the roof and he jumped. Grell jumped off after him, but Ronald and Eric came to a stop, both too fatigued to make a safe landing.

* * *

"Spears senpai," wheezed Ronald through blood-stained lips, "we're done. Need a breather."

"Now isn't the time to slack off," snapped the brunet coldly, pausing at the edge of the roof.

"We've been...chasing him all afternoon," reminded Eric in their defense. "You and...Sutcliff are still fresh. We'll catch up."

William sighed. "Fine. Don't take too long." He didn't tarry to remind them that this was the closest they'd gotten so far to capturing their quarry. He spared a look up at the taller building he'd jumped down from, to see if Undertaker intended to follow.

He wasn't there anymore.

* * *

_Four hours earlier:_

William gave a courteous nod to the butler when he answered the door. "Good afternoon, Mr. Michaelis. I believe we have an appointment with your master."

Sebastian glanced between him and Grell, before stepping aside and making an elegant, inviting gesture. "Do come in. My lord Dumont is waiting in the drawing room."

William and Grell took the invitation, collapsing their umbrellas before stepping into the foyer. There was a break in the cloud cover and a few beams of sunlight made an appearance. The light rain falling from the sky glittered like jewels in their wake, and Grell paused to look out at the landscape with admiration. Sebastian closed the door, shutting off the enchanting sight of sun-kissed drizzle.

"Right this way, gentlemen."

With a glance at his companion that silently warned him not to touch anything—particularly the handsome creature leading them through the house—William did so. They passed by a gilded clock under a delicate glass cover, sitting on a delicate mahogany sideboard. Beside it was a black, fluted Japanese vase with an image of a butterfly etched in gold and red. A single red rose occupied it. The carpet runner they walked on appeared to be Turkish in origin, with fine-stitched embroidery. Though much smaller than the Phantomhive manor, the house had an air of elegance and refinement that seemed to follow the owner wherever he went.

Sebastian opened the double doors leading into the drawing room and he stepped aside to allow the two Shinigami visitors to pass. "Master, our guests have arrived. Shall I freshen up your tea?"

Ciel sat relaxing on one of the high-back armchairs, with a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. He considered the drink in his hand before nodding. "Yes." He put his book aside and he looked up at his guests, gesturing at the furniture arranged in the room. "Have a seat. I'd like to make this meeting brief, if you don't mind. I have things to do."

Wondering what could possibly keep the young lord so busy all the time in his current situation, William did as bidden and he sat down on the loveseat across from Ciel. Grell sat down with him and the redhead gave Sebastian a flirty wink that had Ciel frowning with annoyance. William empathized with him wholeheartedly, and he decided to get the conversation underway while Sebastian poured tea for them all.

"Frankly, we don't have time to make this a particularly long meeting, even if we were so inclined," informed William courteously. "We came to tell you that our people are closing in on Fischer again, thanks in no small part to your network of informants. One of them tracked him down at a tavern on the east side of the city, and he and his partner are trailing him now."

"Congratulations," said Ciel coolly. He took the fresh cup offered to him by his butler and handed over the empty one. "I'm sure you'll be praised for closing this case in such a...timely manner."

The little smirk on the half demon's lips as he took an experimental sip of his tea made William want to pop him with his death scythe. Phantomhive—or rather, _Dumont_—had always been an arrogant little fop, though. He let the veiled insult go, reminding himself of their purpose there. He had to humble himself before this attractive narcissist one last time, if he wanted to ensure the success of his people's efforts. Fortunately, Grell was too preoccupied with watching Sebastian with his eyes to noticed Ciel's disrespectful sarcasm.

"It will be all the more timely if we could persuade you to have a more direct hand in the capture of this villain." William took a cube of sugar from the offered holder and he dropped it into his tea. "In addition to our silence concerning your 'death', I'm willing to offer additional payment for your aid."

"We've been over this before," Ciel reminded, arching a brow. "I'm already comfortably wealthy."

"Yes, but you could be wealthier still," pressed William, "and the potential threat to you would be eliminated, as well."

Sebastian paused in the act of carrying the tea tray back to its stand, and he looked over his shoulder at the two Shinigami with a frown. "Was that a threat against my master, Mr. Spears?" His eyes glowed.

"Not from me," answered the supervisor calmly. He took a sip of his tea and nodded in satisfaction at the blend of flavor, and the subtle cinnamon notes in it. Demon or not, Sebastian made the best tea he'd ever tasted. "But from Fischer, if he discovers who's been aiding the Society in tracking him down."

"But you said his actions were deliberately formulated to draw your organization's attention," reasoned Ciel. "Therefore, it stands to reason that he shouldn't much care who helped your people find him or why. What you haven't told us is _why_ he's trying so hard to bait you. It seems overdone for the sake of rebellion, from my point of view."

Sebastian nodded. "Rebels generally try to avoid being caught." His gaze went to Grell, who grinned at him. "That is, if they want to keep rebelling. From what you've shared with us, it seems that this reaper has done all he could to keep your interest."

"Yes," agreed Ciel. "He's been dangling a carrot in front of your noses for all this time, but he hasn't really threatened your organization at all. Why? I have a feeling you've figured that out."

"To put it simply," sighed William, "he wants to die."

Ciel made a dismissive sound and rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ he does. He's a reaper."

"Yes, our kind tend to develop suicidal tendencies early on in our careers," admitted William forgivingly, "at least, those who put on official glasses and work for the organization. It's a hazard of our occupation. This rebel doesn't simply want _any_ death, however. He wants it delivered to him by very specific hands, and that's why he's done his best to elude us for all this time, without vanishing altogether. He wanted a certain individual brought into the case."

Ciel frowned with grudging intrigue. "Who?"

"Undertaker," answered William. "You may recall me telling you they once worked together, and the Undertaker was the one to identify the fugitive."

Ciel nodded. "So this maniac wants his old friend to be the one to put him out of his misery, is that it?"

"Indeed."

Ciel frowned, looking up at the butler that had returned to stand at his side. "What makes him think Undertaker will do it? When was the last time he even _used_ his scythe?"

"Oh, not too long ago," Grell said with a wink. "You would be surprised how spry he is. I doubt even Sebby could take him in a fight...though I'd enjoy watching."

Ciel made a face. "_Undertaker_?" he repeated, seeming honestly perplexed. "Are we thinking of the same man?"

William found it almost amusing, though a bit insulting. Ciel could be forgiven for his impression that the funeral director was more or less a befuddled old has-been with a macabre sense of humor. He hadn't seen him in action yet, after all.

"There is so much more to the Undertaker than most people see," defended the dispatch supervisor, reverently picturing the fight he'd witnessed at the docks, the evening Grell was so severely injured. He couldn't appreciate it then, but now he looked back on it with awe. "You of _all_ people should understand that appearances can be deceiving, young demon lord."

Ciel's doubtful expression softened a bit, and he gave a nod of accord and sipped his tea. "I suppose that's true, but...Undertaker?"

Sebastian smiled in that quietly amused, elegant way of his. "Young master still sees the Undertaker as the reclusive, relatively harmless informant of the Phantomhive family. Given the image he's created for himself in London, it's easy to overlook the fact that he was once a legendary grim reaper."

"One of the first," stressed William. He adjusted his glasses with slight agitation. "He deserves more respect than you give him."

"I'm sure my lord means no disrespect," Sebastian said tactfully when Ciel opened his mouth with a dry expression on his face. "He knows that Undertaker isn't as harmless as he appears. He's just grown comfortable with him over the years, and I daresay there is some fondness blended in there, somewhere."

Ciel seemed to gather his manners, and he nodded. "Yes, of course. He's definitely not harmless. It's interesting though; he seems to be the only one of you that wields a proper scythe. I don't even know what those things are that you two use."

"They're tools for reaping," insisted Grell, tensing indignantly. "Just because you're too primitive to appreciate them for their genius doesn't mean they're any less effective than Undertaker's death scythe."

"Except his has more reach," argued Ciel with a smirk. His gaze went to William and he nodded. "His is the only one I've seen that can match it."

Rather than be put out by the observation, Grell favored William with a lecherous smile. "Mm, yes...William's pole has quite the reach on it. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by two such handsome Shinigami with such..._long_...tools."

Ciel began to blush, looking suddenly uncomfortable. William's glasses steamed up and he quickly brought his tea to his lips. "Enough, Grell," he muttered into the cup.

"I think this conversation has taken the wrong turn," Sebastian announced tactfully as both Ciel and William turned a delightful shade of pink. "If I may direct us back on topic, what exactly is it you want of my master and I, Mr. Spears?"

"I told you," answered William, "we would like your assistance in capturing him today, and bringing this case to a close. This would be the last act I request of you in this endeavor, gentlemen. Though he's doing this because he has a death wish, please don't delude yourself into thinking that Fischer wouldn't come after you. The more attention he attracts from our organization, the better for his goal. If he learns who you are—even if only your alias—he may decide that killing our main informant in this city will bring him even more negative publicity."

Ciel seemed to consider that. "It does make an odd sort of sense." He and Sebastian exchanged a look of quiet, silent communication. "We _have_ been preparing for something like that. Very well, I believe we can lend a hand in this. However, in exchange I want your solemn vow that this will be the last time you call on me with blackmailing tactics. If Sebastian and I help you in this next attempt—regardless of whether it results in the capture of this fiend or not—you have to drop all notions of using my identity against me again."

"Done," agreed William, his cheeks finally cooling now that the conversation had been steered away from his "pole". He grudgingly thanked Sebastian inwardly for that. "In fact, we won't trouble you on this matter again after this attempt is made. If we fail this time, we'll have to forgo pride and enlist the aid of our entire department."

Ciel almost looked sympathetic, and he traced the rim of his teacup with a fingertip in thought. The black nails were the only thing that gave away his true nature, and William guessed he probably wore gloves to conceal them whenever he had human callers.

"Then let's do our best to see to it you don't need to resort to that," murmured the young lord. "I can offer a suggestion immediately, concerning your tactics."

"And that would be?"

Ciel gazed at him evenly. "You keep doing the same things, making the same mistakes. You don't understand the game, or you've been overlooking the alternative moves you could try. Dedrich Fischer expects to be chased. He counts on it."

"We already know that," snorted Grell. "Don't patronize us."

"I'm just pointing out a flaw in your tactics. You keep doing the same thing; sending groups to chase after him. He determines the direction, and you follow. As I said earlier, he's dangling a carrot in front of your noses and you just keep chasing it. If you want to outsmart him, you've got to change your method of pursuit."

William stroked his chin, interested. "What would you recommend?"

Ciel smiled in a faintly conniving manner. "Have you considered a net?"

Grell made a face. "He could cut through that in a cinch. What a ridiculous—"

"I don't mean literally," interrupted Ciel in an annoyed tone. "I mean figuratively. Make _him_ go where _you_ want him to go, and then spring the trap."

Sebastian smiled and nodded in approval. "Indeed. Drive your prey to the location you want, and then you can corner him."

William thought the idea had plenty of merit. He'd considered a similar tactic himself, but it seemed like there was never enough time to organize a game plan like that. Every time they spotted the fugitive, the chase was on and it was all they could do not to lose track of him. It was a bit different now, though. Alan Humphries and Eric Slingby were currently just trailing him, having been ordered not to engage until further notice. Ronald was on standby, waiting for further instructions. If they played this right, they could use Ciel's suggestion and they might finally bring this criminal in.

"I think that's a good strategy," complimented William. "So, do we have an accord?"

Ciel nodded. "To see an end to this, certainly. What role will Undertaker play, though?"

"That depends on him," answered William, the smoothness of his brow marred with a frown. He couldn't truly predict exactly what Undertaker would do, but he was sure he could trust him not to turn on them.

* * *

_Present time:_

He couldn't afford to worry about where the Undertaker went, or what he planned to do. Grell was now the only one presently chasing Fischer, and that was worrisome enough to prompt him into action.

William leaped down onto the street, cloaking himself like the fugitive and Grell as he ran after them. He could see Grell's red jacket and almost matching hair whipping behind him up ahead, and he silently hoped he would have the sense not to try and face Dedrich one-on-one. The aura around Sutcliff hid him from mortal eyes as he charged through the Paris streets after their quarry, but he knocked a few people aside in passing. William clenched his jaw as he heard a man's agonized cry far ahead, perhaps a block away. Fischer had claimed yet another random victim. He seemed to delight in cutting down anyone that got in his path, rather than avoid them.

He heard Grell's chainsaw roar, and the sound startled several humans into jumping out of the way, even though they couldn't see the source of the strange noise. William approved of his method of clearing a path, but they were starting to drift off course.

_~Don't forget our plan, Grell. Herd him...don't just chase him!~_

Herding a rogue Shinigami wasn't that simple, though—especially for a single dispatch officer. He could tell that Sutcliff was doing his best to direct the fleeing criminal's path, but he couldn't do it by himself. It therefore came as an immense relief when Eric materialized just ahead of Fischer and launched an attack at him that forced him to turn down a side street to the left, to avoid losing an arm to the blond's saw.

_~Thank you, Slingby.~_

Still apparently fatigued but determined, Eric made the "death" salute at Grell as the redhead passed him in the chase. William saw Grell make the gesture back at him before he vanished around the corner of a shop building. William nodded at Eric, hardly slowing as he turned down the street in pursuit.

The blond gave a tired, sober nod back. "Knox should be ready at the next waypoint," he called out, now that Fischer was out of ear-shot. "I'll 'jump' to the one after that and—"

He was forced to dive aside to avoid being run over by an automobile—whose driver had no idea he was standing in the street.

"Shit! Watch out for the car, William!"

Hearing it coming up behind him, the brunet moved out of the way and he called out for Grell up ahead to do the same. The redhead must have heard him, because he meandered to the right side of the street just in time. Unfortunately, Dedrich decided to turn right down the next street—the opposite direction of where they needed him to go.

Ciel's plan to "drive" him was great in theory, but in practice it was a pain in the ass...to say the least.

* * *

Several blocks away at their appointed location, Ciel and Sebastian stood on the roof of a three-story building, watching the steadily darkening streets below. The sun had nearly set on the horizon, and dark clouds were again moving in from the south. Soon the city would be pitched in darkness, and by the looks of it, possibly rain.

"Do you see anything yet?" Ciel asked.

Sebastian shook his head, his raven hair stirring in the breeze. "Nothing yet." His red gaze looked sidelong at Ciel, measuring him. "Are you certain you want to be involved, master?"

Ciel nodded. "I'm certain. As you've said before, this reaper could pose a risk to us if he isn't caught. I won't leave it completely to others to tie up loose ends."

Sebastian smiled subtly at him. Ciel seemed to have gained even more confidence since the night before. Not that he was ever indecisive about things like this in the past, but now he radiated decisiveness and leadership. Ciel noticed his stare and his little smile, and his stern demeanor softened a bit.

"Stop looking at me that way, Sebastian. It puts my mind on other things, and I can't be distracted."

His tone suggested he didn't really find the attention unpleasant or annoying, however. "It isn't possible for me not to look at you this way, my lord."

Ciel flushed a little, his blue eyes sweeping over Sebastian's taller form with not-so-covert admiration in them. "When this is finished, I intend to make good on my promise to you. Count on it. Until then, let's just focus on the task at hand."

Were Sebastian a mortal man, such a promise would have proved to be a huge distraction in itself. He could see by the subtle glint of humor in Ciel's eye that it was deliberate teasing, on his part. He knew the younger demon fully intended to give himself to him—of that, he had no doubt. His choice to mention it aloud, however, wasn't made in innocence.

"You enjoy testing me, master."

Ciel looked down at the street again, and he absently smoothed his cravat. "I'm beginning to understand how flirtation works, that's all."

Neither of them were quite expecting for the Undertaker to materialize behind them. Ciel jumped and gave an undignified little yell of surprise when he felt the Shinigami's fingernail poke him smartly on the shoulder to get his attention. Sebastian whirled with a handful of silverware, and he nearly threw first and asked questions later. Seeing the grinning funeral director standing there waving hello to them, both demons calmed down. Ciel looked both embarrassed and annoyed as he tried to muster his dignity.

"Undertaker...good to see you again."

The silver-haired funeral director snickered behind one hand, before answering. "You could have fooled me." He lifted his bangs to peer at Ciel. "My, you've certainly grown. I see you've had a bite to eat today, too."

Ciel glanced at Sebastian. "H-how can you tell?"

"I can smell the fresh soul on your breath," answered the reaper, leaning closer to have a deeper whiff. "Minty."

"Er..." Ciel clearly couldn't think of a response to that, so Sebastian came to his rescue.

"I convinced the young master to dine before we came here. I'm sure you would agree that it's best for him to be in top form, if he's going to participate."

"Oh, absolutely," agreed Undertaker with a nod. His newest hat seemed to sit better on his head than any of its predecessors. "We can't have the young lord faint with hunger, can we? Allow me to congratulate you both on a job well done."

Undertaker dropped his bangs and took each of their hands, shaking them both.

"For what, exactly?" Ciel asked him warily, looking at the tall Shinigami as though he were a stick of dynamite that could explode at any moment.

"Well, your butler for raising you so well, and you for growing up so nicely," explained Undertaker with a chuckle. "I must admit, I wondered if you would be a shrimp for the rest of your life. Not that you're tall now, but I think your size suites you."

"I'm...flattered." Ciel pulled his hand out of the Undertaker's pale grip. "If you don't mind, we need to pay attention to what's going on in the streets. Shouldn't you be with your Shinigami companions?"

"No, they're doing a fine job without me," insisted Undertaker. His grin faded and he visibly concentrated, tilting his head to the side. "A bit off course, but Mr. Knox has corrected that. Dedrich is heading this way, now. I hope you chaps are ready."

"Of course," Sebastian assured him, watching him with veiled eyes. "And you? Are you prepared to do what may need to be done, or will you sit this one out?"

Undertaker sighed and bowed his head for a moment. He was so uncommonly somber that neither demon said anything, disoriented by the change in him. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible above the sound of the increasingly stronger wind blowing.

"Dedrich and I are the last of our generation. He was once my friend...my brother. It would be a shame if I were forced to take his life with these hands." He held out his hands and examined them with a frown, and then he manifested his scythe and held it up. The crescent blade glinted in the dying, pink-ish light of the last vestiges of sunset. "Or to reap his soul with this scythe, like he was a common mortal. You ask me if I can do this. I honestly don't know."

Undertaker raised a hand to his head, and he removed his top hat. He considered it for a moment as he leaned against his scythe like it was a staff, and he handed the item to Ciel. "Hold onto this for me, and don't lose it. It's the first hat to fit my head right in years."

Ciel took the hat gingerly, as if it might bite him. "I'll look after it," he promised.

Undertaker nodded, and he reached into a pocket of his robes to produce a case. He opened it up to reveal a pair of silver-framed glasses, which he put on. He combed his bangs out of his eyes with his fingers, and then he unfastened the belt of lockets he wore around his waist. He coiled it up and studied it for a moment.

"Keep an eye on this too," he urged, handing the object over to Sebastian. "Oh, and feel free to use it as a whip in a pinch, if you like. Just be sure to return it to me later."

Sebastian raised a brow, and he took the strange belt with a polite little bow. "I'll keep it safe for you."

Undertaker nodded, and he stood straight and tall as he gazed out at the horizon. "This may very well be the last laugh." He sighed again, and he unfastened his robes. Ciel hastily looked away, and the funeral director chuckled. "No need to panic, young friend. I'm not going to expose myself to you. Here, you may as well put this somewhere, too. I can't have it getting in my way, this time."

Ciel looked up at him in time to get a face full of Undertaker's robes as the Shinigami tossed them over him. The young man sputtered and staggered in surprise, while Undertaker snickered. Sebastian's brows lifted at the sight of him, and when Ciel pulled his discarded garment away from his face, he blinked and gaped. Neither of them had ever seen what he wore beneath his robes, and the transformation was even more startling than seeing him in a suit.

He wore an ensemble of a long, button-up black shirt and tight pants made of some black material that resembled leather, but it moved in a supple manner. There were belts criss-crossing over the thighs and calves, for what purpose one could only guess. The high-heeled boots added the finishing touch and Sebastian smirked. If Sutcliff caught a glimpse of Undertaker dressed like this, he'd probably forget all about flirting with him. That would certainly make Ciel happy, at least.

Undertaker adjusted his collar a bit, and then his glasses. He seemed uncomfortable with wearing the latter, but they obviously helped with the poor vision his race was cursed with. His green-gold eyes met Sebastian's behind the lenses of the glasses, and he gave a little start.

"My, this is the first time I've ever really had a good look at you, Mr. Michaelis. You're quite dashing, aren't you?"

Sebastian gave a polite smile. "You could be accused of the same."

Ciel cleared his throat, looking at both of them impatiently as he folded up Undertaker's robes hastily. "We're here to capture a rogue Shinigami," he reminded, "not flirt. Not only is it too disturbing for words to witness between you two, but it's inappropriate."

Sebastian parted his lips, but he refrained from reminding his master that he himself had flirted—or rather teased—him earlier. He gave a bow a the waist. "Of course, my lord. Undertaker, I presume you intend to intercept our quarry?"

"Not just yet," answered the retired reaper, "but I'll be watching. I'll give you young ones the chance to take care of matters, before I say my final goodbye to him."

"I wouldn't describe myself as 'young', but I respect your choice," answered the demon. He looked at his shorter companion, who was comically trying to find somewhere clean to put the folded robes in his arms. "Master, is your plan still the same?"

Ciel nodded. "Yes." He tossed the robes at Sebastian, who caught them with ease. "Hold those for now, and be ready to come to my aid."

Undertaker grinned and tapped an onyx nail against his teeth. "This should be entertaining. Good luck, young Phantomhive."

"Thanks—" Ciel turned to regard him, but the Shinigami had vanished into thin air again. He sighed and looked up at Sebastian, once more. "Why don't they just use that power to get ahead of Dedrich?"

"Because it takes more concentration for them than it does for us, as I understand it." Sebastian placed the folded robes against the half-wall, guessing that Undertaker wouldn't mind under the circumstances. "They can't displace themselves in the middle of a fight, or while running—however, they can traverse greater distances with it than you and I can."

"I see." Ciel heard an old man give a death cry somewhere below, about a block up the street. He nodded and he braced himself, checking his foil and his pistol. "Be ready," he reminded again.

"Always," assured Sebastian. "I will be near."

* * *

He knew he was being driven. He knew they were deliberately trying to direct his footsteps, but he could only do so much to thwart their efforts, without turning to fight them. He had little doubt he could take at least two of them down before they subdued or killed him, but Dedrich was determined to leave this world _his_ way, by _his_ terms. He couldn't surrender or risk death at the hands of juvenile reapers—which was exactly what they were to someone of his age...even the older two.

He took a risk and turned down another street, and he smirked when he heard the redhead behind him groan in frustration.

"My apologies," he panted, too low for Grell to hear him, "but I won't play the role of cattle for you." He saw a clothesline hanging overhead between buildings, and he took a running leap and sliced through it, sending the line and its collection of various clothing articles falling into the street behind him.

"Oh...William, help! I'm being attacked by underclothes fit for an ogre!"

The distressed exclamation might have made the old Dedrich laugh with amusement, but laughter was so far beyond him now, he could barely recall what it felt like. His move slowed his opponents down, but it only gave him a small lead over them. He was growing fatigued, and he would soon have to turn and fight them, if he couldn't escape their dogged pursuit. He made another sharp turn into an alley, and he took another flying leap over a fence blocking the passage off from the street on the other side.

When he landed on the other side, he found himself facing a young man with a unique shade of dark, collar-length hair. It appeared to have blue-ish highlights. He was small of build, but handsome and refined in appearance. He was dressed well, and Dedrich guessed him to be a young lord, out for an evening stroll.

Unfortunately, he was in his way.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," said the young man with a cocky little smile. He was looking right at him with sharp blue eyes. He could _see_ him, despite his cloaking. Quicker than the blink of an eye, he drew a pistol and aimed it at the reaper's face. "I don't miss."

Intrigued but wary, Dedrich stayed his hand and regarded the gentlemen closely. He wore gloves over his hands, but that was common of the well-bred in this age. both of his earlobes were pierced with small diamonds, and even those weren't as bright as the unwavering blue eyes staring up at him. The dim light of the street lamps cast a faint golden glow over the young man's figure, making him appear almost angelic.

Reaching out with his senses, Dedrich finally understood. This was no angel, or was he human. "You're a demon—or at least a hybrid."

"Very astute." The young man drew an expensive looking foil, with gold filigree lining the hilt. Now aiming both weapons at him with ease, he spoke in the calm tone of one who was used to issuing orders—and having them followed promptly. "You've run out of places to run, Fischer. We can't allow you to continue your bloodbath, and the Shinigami authorities are ordered to bring you in alive. Don't try to resist—"

Dedrich acted before the strange half-demon could finish his speech, his rotating blade flashing bright as lightning flashed overhead. The young lord vanished, and Dedrich nearly overbalanced. He quickly adjusted to the unexpected move, and he turned as he sensed the danger behind him. He grunted as the sharp blade of the foil pierced his side, rather than his heart, and he made quick work of it with his death scythe. The Shinigami weapon cut through the young gent's fancy weapon quickly, sheering the metal blade in half. Its owner backed off and tossed away the ruined foil, watching with calculating eyes as Dedrich pulled the imbedded blade free of his body.

He'd pierced a lung. The reaper coughed into his hand, looking at his opponent with greater respect. Blood flecked his lips as he gave him a cold, hard grin. "I find it ironic, for the product of demons to lecture on the morality of culling humans. Besides, you can't kill me with mortal weapons."

"No, but I can slow you down." With that said, the demon fired a shot, and despite Dedrich's attempt to dodge it, he felt it shatter his right cheekbone as the shot gouged a path in it, before hitting the wall of the building behind him.

Now enraged and in pain, he stopped trying to figure this creature out, and he used his abilities to the best advantage. The boy tried to avoid his incoming flurry, but he lacked the age and practice of Dedrich. There was a low cry and a splatter of blood on the ground as the reaper cut him. The demon boy managed to avoid a fatal hit, but he now sported a gash in the same side he'd pierced Dedrich in. His cinematic records began to escape, and he fell to the ground. He tried to struggle back to his feet as Dedrich loomed over him, but he was too badly injured to put up much of a fight.

Briefly lamenting the loss of opportunity to study this creature, Dedrich prepared to finish him. He'd only met one other hybrid before in his long life, and he would have liked to gain a better understanding of their kind.

"It will end quickly," he promised the boy. He could hear the footsteps of his Shinigami pursuit closing in from the alley and he knew he was running out of time. He wouldn't even get the chance to catch more than a glimpse of his cinematic records and find out how he came to be this way.

He raised his weapon, and just as he was about to bring it down and sever the creature's head from his body, both of his arms were peppered with something very sharp and painful. It felt like at least a dozen daggers had pierced both of his arms, but they were too small and light. He lowered his scythe to stare at his arms in disbelief.

"Silverware?"

Indeed, his biceps and forearms were neatly decorated with a line of elegant forks and knives, buried deep into the muscle and tendons. He turned and looked up at where he suspected the surprise barrage to come from, and he saw a tall man's form briefly backlit by the half-full moon rising in the sky. The clouds covered the moon a moment later, and all he could see was a dark shadow with glowing, slit-pupiled eyes. Another demon, then.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to harm my master further, Shinigami."

There was another brief flicker of lightning, as if on cue, and Dedrich caught a glimpse of a pale, elegantly handsome face before the man jumped down from the roof he was on and landed before him. He moved with the grace of a dancer, and he smiled politely at him as he straightened up and displayed another row of silverware, clutched between his gloved fingers. He was dressed as a butler, of all things.

"I advise you to step away from my companion now," warned the demon. "He gave you the chance to be civil, and you declined. Now I'm afraid I have no choice but to avenge the harm you've done to him."

It was almost surreal, the way this creature was speaking to him. He'd always thought demons were interesting, but they were so hated by the Shinigami dispatch for being soul devourers that he'd never regarded them as more than curiosities of existence, like exotic bugs. Interesting, but pests, nonetheless.

"Out of my way," Dedrich warned, feeling the stirrings of anxiety when he sensed his Shinigami pursuit closing in. "I have no interest in either of you, but I'll reap you both if I must."

"Bold words," said the butler, while his smaller companion struggled to his feet behind Dedrich. "Young master, move aside, if you please. I'd rather you not be too close."

"Se...bastian," coughed the teenager, struggling to do as advised.

Dedrich frowned. "Sebastian? Ah, so _that's _who you are. Your master must be Ciel Dumont, the informant."

Instead of answering verbally, the butler closed the distance between them in an astonishing flash. He moved so quickly and quietly that he caught the reaper by surprise, and Dedrich had the interesting and rare experience of being body slammed into the brick wall behind him, where the young lord had been just moments ago. He hadn't expected such an elegant creature to use so crude a method, and he felt a rib crack under the force of it.

Sebastian's face was inches from his own, and he could see the canines elongate into precise little fangs as the demon smiled lazily at him. "One should never threaten a demon butler's master, Mr. Fischer. It's...rude."

The gloved hands pressed down on either side of Dedrich's head, using force that he'd never felt before. They forcibly turned his head, and he felt his neck pop. If he didn't put a stop to this, the demon might rip his head right off his shoulders. He got over his surprise at the suddenness of the brutal attack, and he managed to get the circular blades of his scythe between them. Gritting his teeth, he got them spinning and he felt the splash of blood on his face and neck. There was some added resistance and a grinding noise as the saws hit bone, and the demon backed off, nearly losing an arm.

Dedrich didn't take the time to gloat. He saw Sutcliff and Spears emerging from the alley, and the young blond one with the mower scythe had come out from one of the side streets, blocking that option. Dedrich frowned and looked up. There was only one place left for him to go. He concentrated, in a state of desperation now. As his enemies closed in on him, he dissipated to a new location, far enough away to give him the chance to escape.

* * *

"No! Dammit!" Ronald made a frustrated grasping motion in the general direction where Fischer had been standing, and he went to his knees in exhaustion. "We _had_ him!"

Grell had overbalanced with his chainsaw leading the way, having rushed in with every intention of cutting the fugitive in half. He skipped on the cobblestones, and he looked almost as frustrated as his underling as he looked around for the escaped Shinigami.

"How could he do that so quickly?" demanded the redhead. "We made sure to keep him too busy for teleportation!" He looked at the injured butler, and he gasped dramatically with outrage. "Oh, Sebby! Nobody should cut you that way except for me!"

Forgetting all about Fischer, Grell started toward Sebastian, but William extended his scythe and blocked him with a warning look. Sebastian clutched his shoulder tightly to keep his injured arm intact as he went to his master. Ciel faired little better. He had a cut in his side over his ribs, and blood was soaking his coat and running between his fingers as he pressed a hand over it.

"You said yourself," panted Ciel, "He's old. Maybe he...doesn't need as much concentration to displace himself. Undertaker seemed to do it without straining."

Sebastian nodded in agreement, gritting his teeth as his preternatural flesh mended. Ciel didn't appear to be healing as quickly, but neither did he look particularly death-bound. The butler lifted him into his arms, only displaying a slight grimace of discomfort as his weight strained his healing arm.

"There's still a chance you could catch him," reasoned the butler. "He can't have gone far, in his condition. Even Shinigami as ancient as he is require rest."

William nudged his glasses with his scythe and nodded. "Indeed. We'll need to split up and locate him again, before he gets too far away. Ronald, where is Mr. Slingby?"

"Right behind you," answered a weary voice. They turned to see Eric walk out of an alley. "I ran out of steam, or I would have teleported here. He got away, did he?"

"Not for long, if we go now," insisted William. "He's fatigued and injured."

"Yeah, so are we," griped Ronald with a sigh. He rubbed a sore jaw. "Couldn't we just call it in and get dispatch to send more people?"

"If it takes our entire department to capture a single rogue Shinigami, none of us deserve to be employed under it," snapped William. "Pull it together, everyone. We have a job to do and I'm not prepared to give up on it while there's still a chance."

Grell smiled sharply and nodded. "That's right. Ronald, you go with Eric. I'll stay with Will."

Eric gestured at Ciel and Sebastian with his scythe. "What about them?"

William looked at the two injured demons, and he lowered his gaze. "They've done their part. They assisted us as requested, and they've slowed our quarry down. If they want to continue, they're welcome to, but there is no obligation."

"I must consider my master's injuries, first," Sebastian murmured.

"Go with them," said Ciel.

"He could come back for you, if he learns you're alone," Sebastian argued, "and though you put up an impressive fight, you're in no condition now to fend him off on your own."

"I doubt he's interested in seeking either of us out again, right now," Ciel answered dryly. "He has an objective and hostages aren't it. Still, we _have_ done our part. I suppose I could allow you to take me home, now."

Sebastian nodded, relaxing. "Of course—"

"But I wont."

Sebastian stared at him. "Pardon?"

"I'm already healing," insisted the younger demon. "This Shinigami injured both of us, and I'd like to see him fall for that. We will continue to assist them—at least to help them track him down again. That's an order."

Grell smirked as Sebastian heaved a barely perceptible sigh. "You must get awfully tired of that, Bassy. It's a pity I don't have a convenient little brand on my body to make you do whatever I wan—"

William grabbed him by the arm and yanked him, interrupting his sentence. "Put your mind on the task, Sutcliff. Eric, Ronald, send word the moment you make contact with the fugitive, if you locate him."

Ronald made the "death" sign with both hands before taking off, with Eric close at his heels.

"I'm sorry, Will," apologized Grell shrilly as he was dragged along. "It's like a compulsion!"

William was silent and grim, too preoccupied with the situation to argue with him over his behavior.

* * *

He lurched to a halt and drew a ragged, pained breath. He cast a look around him to be sure, but he was confident that he'd shaken his pursuers. He approached an old, abandoned mausoleum, and he leaned against it as he started to pull on the padlock to break it off. He would rest inside for a while, until he could decide what to do next. Undertaker hadn't shown, but he liked to come to this place at night. Dedrich was determined to have his wish fulfilled, and he would keep pushing his old friend until he granted it.

As the lock broke, he heard a familiar voice speak from a few feet behind and to the left of him.

"I thought you might come here."

Dedrich turned slowly, his neck paining him from the demon's attempt to break it. When he saw the Shinigami standing before him, he was reminded of times long past. If it weren't for the scars striping his face and neck, he might have looked like the reaper that Dedrich went through training with. The cool, damp air was blowing Undertaker's pale hair to the side, and he stood with his death scythe casually planted in the hallowed ground they stood upon. His silver glasses glinted as lightning danced overhead, and the long shirt billowed in the wind to reveal the snug black pants and boots he wore beneath it. Gone was the silly hat, the concealing robes and the chain of lockets he usually wore around his waist. He looked the part of the grim reaper again, deadly and beautiful.

Of course, then he opened his mouth with a grin, and Dedrich was reminded that Undertaker had become somewhat of a kook over the years. "Hungry? I have cookies."

* * *

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 14: The last laugh

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

_Paris France, 1498 AD:_

_The woman stood weeping over the still body of her little girl, while her husband desperately tried to revive her._

_"Breathe!" cried the man in a quivering voice. _

_He shook the small body, but there was no life in the blank, rolled-back eyes. The girl had succumbed to the plague, like over half of Paris. Finally understanding that his child wouldn't miraculously awake and put her arms around him, the father bowed his head over her matted dark hair and sobbed helplessly. His wife bent over him and embraced him, adding her sobs to his. _

_"Mama? Papa?" Another young voice broke through their weeping misery, making them both attempt to pull themselves together. The woman looked up with streaming, reddened green eyes at her son—barely a year older than his sister. "Is Sissy going to be okay?"_

_"Jean," she said, approaching the boy and kneeling before him while her husband gently rearranged the little girl's now empty shell, "Sissy can't be with us any longer. She...she's gone to Heaven with Grandmama and Grandpapa."_

_He coughed into his hand, his brown eyes going to the bed that his father was hunched over. His mouth quivered, but he had no tears left in his dehydrated body to cry. "Will...will we see her soon?"_

_The mother shook her head. "I do not know, my child." She kissed his forehead and shuddered on a sob that surfaced. "Perhaps. Please, go back to bed, now. Papa and I must prepare her for the ferryman, so that she can join our family. It's going to be all right, Jean."_

_He allowed her to take him back into the small bedroom he'd been sharing with his sister, before she became so ill they had to keep her in their room with them to watch over her. His mother tucked him in, her tears falling on his face as she drew the covers over him and gave him his handkerchief. He couched into it again, struggling for breath, and she looked down at him with aching love. _

_"I will see you in the morning, my baby. Say a prayer for the saints to protect your sister on her journey to Heaven, yes?"_

_The boy nodded, sniffling with his own grief. He was too weak to express the grief and fear a healthy child might have. His mother left him then, returning to the master bedroom to care for the remains of his sister. He wasn't alone for long. A dark shadow manifested in the corner of his small room, and as soon as he noticed it, he started to cry out in fear—but then it spoke to him, fully materializing into the form of a black-robed man._

_"Don't be afraid, child. I am a friend. I've come to bring you to your sister."_

_Jean struggled to sit up in the little bed. "Who are you?" He coughed again, and this time the handkerchief came away spotted with blood._

_"As I said: I am a friend." The man reached up with a pale hand to tug the concealing hood down, revealing his face to the boy. He had the features one might expect to see on an angel, and he wore silver-rimmed, half-frame glasses. He smiled at him in a friendly manner, his eyes seeming to glow a strange shade of gold and green in the moonlight. "I can make the pain go away. All you need to do is come with me."_

_Charmed in spite of himself, the boy watched uncertainly as the robed man advanced. He looked up at the shiny scythe he held in one hand, and he swallowed, pointing at it. "Are...are you a farmer? I've never seen one of those with a skull on it, before."_

_The man sat down beside him on the bed, and it creaked under his weight. He considered the question, and then he nodded. A thin, silver braid escaped the mass of hair he had tucked down the back of his robes and he absently stroked it between a thumb and forefinger. "I suppose you could say that, in a manner of speaking. What I really am, young friend, is a harvester. You could also consider me a ferryman of sorts. I've already escorted your little sister to the other side, and she's waiting for you now."_

_The boy mustered some courage. "I don't believe you."_

_The robed man smiled again. "Oh? Then I have something to show you. Watch this."_

_He rested his scythe against the side of the bed and he made a motion as if pulling a string between his fingers. A light winked into existence, and pictures began to flow between his fingers, faster and faster. As the boy watched, he saw his sister's fourth birthday happen again, right before his eyes. He watched with wide, bloodshot eyes as the moment replayed for him, showing him helping her blow out the candles on the velvet cake their mother had made, while his parents clapped in the background. The display ended after that, and the robed man looked at him expectantly._

_"See? Amelia is waiting for you, Jean. So is the rest of your family. Shall I take you to them, now?"_

_Hesitantly, the boy gave a weak smile. "But...what about Mama and Papa?"_

_"They will be joining you, soon enough. Tonight, I'm here for you." The man extended his hand invitingly, and the boy put his clammy, small hand into it. The man helped him out of the bed and he collected his scythe, before walking out of the room with him. _

_As the darkness began to gather around them, the mother came out of her bedroom, and she saw what was happening. "What are you doing with my child," she demanded hoarsely. _

_Her husband came out of the room, and when he saw the reaper turn to look at them both with inhuman, bright eyes, he held his wife back. "No, don't," he warned her when she tried to approach to wrest their son away from him. "It's Death himself!"_

_The reaper smiled at them, displaying white, perfect teeth. "So you remember me, then. Most humans don't recall the dreams I send, until their time comes. Don't worry; Jean's suffering will end tonight. He'll be well cared for."_

_The woman sobbed and reached out for her son, who hesitated. His hand loosened its hold on the tall, robed man and he started to take a step toward her, but the reaper blocked him._

_"You can't go back, now," explained the reaper softly. "But remember what I said to you. They'll join you soon enough."_

_The boy staggered a little, weak from his fatal condition. "I'm...tired."_

_The reaper knelt down and scooped him up with ease. "Then go to sleep. I'll carry you safely to your sister, and when you wake up, you'll be with her and the others again."_

_The boy laid his head on the robed man's shoulders trustingly, and he watched his parents with sad but hopeful eyes as he was carried down the hall, away from them. "We'll see you soon," he promised them in a thin voice, "Amelia is waiting for me."_

_His parents clung to each other and wept, helpless to do anything to stop the death god from taking him from them. They were rapidly growing weak themselves, and they would be joining him in mere days. The darkness gathered around the reaper and his charge again, and they both vanished from the plagued house, leaving a grieving couple to mourn the loss of two children in one day. They found their son's earthly remains in his room afterwards, collapsed still and cold on his bed._

* * *

Undertaker thought back on that evening as he shared his baked treats with his old friend. "This is their mausoleum we're sitting in, you know," he informed him. "As it turns out, the woman came from money. She eloped with her husband and they lived a poor life together, but after their death, her father paid to have this built for them."

Dedrich gave him a blank look.

"That family from the Paris plague," explained Undertaker, "the one I didn't get to finish reaping, because you showed up and tore the parents apart before I could come back to collect them."

"Ah," said the blond, swallowing. He pressed a hand against his damaged cheek, which was regaining its shape again as the bone healed beneath it. "The last plague victims you reaped. It was nothing personal. I was sent to assist you, and that's what I did."

"I already had them marked," reminded Undertaker, "and your methods have always been so messy. Why couldn't you have just chosen one of the families I hadn't put on my list yet?"

"The truth? Because I knew it would drive you crazy." Dedrich gave him a humorless smile—lopsided because of the damage Ciel had done to his face. He winced as he bit off another hunk of the bone-shaped cookie in his hand. "You were so famous for the ease at which you collected souls, my friend. You had surpassed me. You didn't even need to force the records from the bodies of the dying to collect them any longer. It was all so easy for you."

"That's an interesting lie to tell yourself," snorted Undertaker. "You wouldn't say that if you'd been the one to wrest Marie Antoinette's records from her. Nearly took me down with her, that one, even without a head."

"Hmm, yes...splendid woman."

Undertaker raised his brows at him, and then he laughed. "Well, I suppose I can't fault you for thinking so. She was Austrian, after all."

Dedrich nodded. "Born in Vienna. My sort of lady."

"I thought you favored the Dutch girls." Undertaker's teasing grin broadened.

"I prefer them all," corrected Dedrich. He gave the taller reaper a wink. "But the Dutch and Austrian ladies hold a special place in my withered old heart."

Undertaker sighed, leaning back against the wall. The lantern sitting between them flickered with orange light as the thunder boomed outside. He could hear the rain beginning to fall, and he rested his forearm on his bent knee and regarded the other man, sitting across from him on the empty sarcophagus.

"Time does fly, doesn't it?"

Dedrich nodded. The bullet gouge in his cheek was closed up now, and there was only faint bruising to mark the damage. "Are you going to grant my wish, or not? I imagine they'll be coming for me soon, and I don't intend to allow myself to be taken alive."

"Oh, they'll come eventually," agreed Undertaker, "but we have time. You realize this is a completely selfish request on your part, don't you?" He adjusted his glasses on his nose and combed his bangs aside to gaze at his companion soberly.

"Wishing to die generally is," agreed Dedrich. "But yours is the only hand worthy of sending me off."

"You keep saying that." Undertaker's voice took on a hint of annoyance in the tone. "I say one death is as good as another. You taught me that. I learned to appreciate the more violent, gruesome methods of freeing souls from human bodies, thanks to you. I even learned to love them as works of art."

"And yet you still coddle the mortals, when you reap them." Dedrich sounded darkly amused. "I've seen it, you know. The night you found the carriage, and the girl dying within. You were so gentle with her. Even retired as you are, you haven't lost your touch. The mortals are drawn to you like moths to a flame, despite your ugly scars."

Undertaker reached up to trace one of said ugly scars with a long nail, running the edge of it diagonally over his face with a macabre grin. "You won't rouse my temper that way, chap. I like my scars."

Dedrich followed the motion with his eyes, and he smirked. "So you do. There is, however, the matter of your friends."

Undertaker tilted his head. "Hmm?"

"The young demon that damaged my face, his butler, and the Shinigami group tracking me down. You're fond of them, yes?"

Undertaker shrugged. "I'm fond of anyone that can bring me a laugh now and then. I can be a bit of a whore about that."

Dedrich chuckled. "And you may be the only one alive that can still bring a genuine smile to my face."

Undertaker spread his hands. "I learned from the best."

"Hmph. Somehow, despite your chipper nonchalance, I suspect you would be quite upset if your sources of amusement were taken from you. You could ensure their protection by granting me my wish."

Dedrich frowned at Undertaker as the silver-haired Shinigami gave him a broad, toothy smile and chuckled. "Oh, really? You used to be better at this sort of game, Dedrich. I can smell the desperation on you like fermenting fruit. It reminds me a bit of the wine I had last night. I can't be so easily manipulated. Try again, though. This is fun; a bit like charades."

It was Dedrich who betrayed his emotions now, his face darkening with anger.

* * *

Ciel and Sebastian checked the black market first, knowing that Fischer had been there a few times during his stay in Paris. Failing to find any sign of him there, they prepared to move on to the catacombs. There were opium dens down there, beneath the city—if one knew where to find them. Ciel reasoned that Fischer might have fled there to recover. The Shinigami team was split up, searching other parts of the city. They had special, strange devices on them that would alert them when the correct number was dialed.

The plan was for anyone that spotted Dedrich or picked up a trail to find the nearest phone booth and dial the number to activate the buzzers on the devices. The devices resembled pocket-watches, but they opened to reveal a smooth, blank surface instead of a clock face. According to William, they were Shinigami scrying glasses, capable of revealing the location of whoever dialed their number sequence. It was how the investigation team had been contacting one another in a hurry, whenever they weren't able to call directly phone-to-phone.

The issue was actually _finding_ the elusive criminal, to begin with. In addition, the demon couple had no contact devices of their own, and thus no way for their temporary allies to reach them quickly. When they emerged from the building, they found it raining. The wind had picked up and a cold front had come through, bringing with it a wet chill that was dangerous to Ciel's health, in his mortal form.

"What are you doing?" Ceil inquired when Sebastian immediately blocked the wind from reaching him and began to fidget with his cape.

"I'm ensuring you are as protected from the weather as possible, of course," answered the butler. His gaze was lowered as he secured some buttons that had come undone on the garment.

"There's no need for that," insisted Ciel, trying to swat his busy hands away.

"Can you be certain?" Sebastian finished, and he gazed into his eyes. "Clearly, you aren't as prone to it as you once were, but you've had your moments of asthma relapse even after your transition. I can't have you developing a case of pneumonia, master."

Ciel sighed. "That episode that I had when we…er…when we…"

Sebastian gave him a sensual smile, and he leaned over to speak into his ear. "Had sex, my lord? Really, I must break you of that blushing habit of yours. I suppose you're merely a product of your time, though."

Ciel cleared his throat, averting his eyes as thoughts of that encounter threatened to distract him from the objective. "It was a fluke," Ciel said as evenly as possible. When Sebastian frowned, he quickly corrected himself. "I mean the asthma attack, not the sex."

A middle-aged woman passing by on her way to a carriage gasped scandalously and stared at the two of them, before shaking her head in disapproval and trouncing away. Sebastian covered his mouth discreetly to hide his mirth as Ciel blushed from neck to ears.

"What a shining pink beacon you make, my lord."

"Shut it," snapped the young man. "We have a task to do."

The butler lowered his gaze contritely and nodded, but the corner of his mouth remained quirked with amusement. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

The wind began to howl outside, and the two ancient Shinigami talked about old times as Dedrich recovered. He produced a flask of bourbon and he shared it with the Undertaker as they chatted inside the old mausoleum.

"What was the name of that girl you fancied so much?" inquired the funeral director, waving the flask around a bit before taking a sip. "The one with the freckles and the…er…endowments. She worked at the tavern we used to go to after training, remember?"

"Ah, Gretchen," answered the rogue with a crooked smile of remembrance. "Yes, she was a flower—one that I sadly never got the opportunity to sample."

"That surprises me a bit." Undertaker handed the flask back to him. "She seemed as interested in you as you were in her."

"I got caught up in work," explained Dedrich, "and while I was out reaping souls, she got wedded and bedded. I do have _some_ honor, my friend. I have never seek out women who are already spoken for."

Undertaker nodded. "That's true. Well, it was probably for the best. You really had a soft spot for that one, and I wondered if you would take it too far."

Dedrich grimaced and looked away.

"What?" Undertaker tilted his head, watching him curiously.

"I didn't need to bed her, to become attached," murmured Dedrich. "I watched over her when I could. I still don't know what exactly it was about her...maybe it was her smile, or maybe it was the blue of her eyes. I never found another I fancied as much."

Undertaker shrugged. "Attachments can happen to the best of us. Did she at least live a long and happy life?"

Dedrich nodded. "She had five kids and sixteen grandchildren, by the time I came for her."

Undertaker frowned. "They sent you to reap her, you mean."

The blond looked down at the bottle in his hand, and he stared into it as if it hand answers to questions he couldn't speak aloud. "No. They were going to send another to do it, but I got there first. I wanted to be sure she didn't suffer in her transition."

Undertaker stared at him, all traces of humor gone. "You shouldn't have done that."

"You're correct," agreed Dedrich with a sigh, "and it wasn't until I began to collect her cinematic records for her journey that I fully understood why. They always warned us not to harvest the souls of mortals we had personal relationships with or feelings for. I always thought it was sensationalist paranoia, until I watched her records and started to get drawn into them."

Dedrich took a drink from the flask, wincing at the sting in his mouth. "It takes away all objectivity, to witness the life events of someone you care for. It destroys common sense, and it can trick a Shinigami agent into giving a mortal a pass to live, when it's their time to die. I nearly lost myself to it, Undertaker. I almost let her come back, when her body couldn't support her soul any longer."

Realizing that Dedrich had actually _loved_ the woman, Undertaker was inclined to sympathy. "You never mentioned it to me. I always thought you simply lost interest in the girl and moved on."

"I knew you would lecture me," explained Dedrich with a humorless smirk. "Even now, with your mad sense of humor, you lecture."

"I was only pointing out the truth," defended Undertaker as he took the offered flask for another drink. "I suppose I was just surprised to hear you'd done such a stupid thing."

"We all have our moments of insanity, and that was my first. What about you, though? What event led you to decide to put aside your glasses and defect in the first place?"

Undertaker glanced at him, took a swallow and shrugged. He handed the flask back over to him as he answered casually. "I couldn't pinpoint a single reason. A lot of things contributed to it, but I've never looked back."

"Hmm, vague. You really don't like to part with your secrets, do you?" Dedrich drank the last of the bourbon, and he replaced the flask in a pocket in his garments. "Well, I think we've spent enough time reminiscing."

He then demonstrated that he had recovered enough from his injuries to put up quite a fight—with no warning. Undertaker saw the sole of his boot a flash instant before it connected with his face. He had time to wonder if his nose had been broken, before he fell to the floor and struck his head on it. He stumbled to his feet quickly and awkwardly, shaking his head to clear it as his companion activated the saws on his scythe.

"Dedrich, that was a foolish thing to do," said the Undertaker as he pinched the bridge of his bleeding nose with one hand and righted his glasses with the other. He shook aside his bangs and he sighed at the other reaper. "You really intend to go through with this, do you?"

"I'm not giving you any other choice, my friend," answered the rogue. "Defend yourself and kill me, before I kill you."

He came at him then, and Undertaker had no choice but to do as he was bidden.

* * *

William was the first to notice the young men, and he shushed his blabbing companion with a frown as they ran towards him and Grell blindly, their eyes wild with fear. Grell noticed them too, and he called out to them, stepping into their path.

"You there! Where's the fire?"

The boys skidded to a halt just before they would have plowed into the crimson reaper. The one on the left had one hand crammed over his hat to keep it from flying off, and the ginger on the right was babbling something incoherent in French.

"Excuse, please," said the brunet in passable English, "Do not go that way, Monsieur!"

"Tell us what happened," urged William in French. "What are you running from?"

"Th-the cemetery," answered the ginger-haired boy in the same language. "We were there looking around, you know? Just for fun. They say the spirits of the dead visit the big one at night, searching for their lost bodies. W-we never thought it was true, but—"

"A mausoleum shattered," interrupted the brunet before his friend could finish, "and _he_ came out of it! We must have angered him with our presence!"

"_He_ who?" Grell pressed, though by the look he shot at William, he shared the supervisor's suspicion.

"D-death," answered the ginger. He wiped absently at the cut on his cheek, smearing blood over the pale surface of his skin. He must have been struck by flying debris. "Please, let us by!"

William stepped aside, urging Grell to do the same. "Go on, then."

The boys ran past them immediately, leaving the two Shinigami standing in the street. Grell squinted through the rain in the direction that they'd come from. "Les Innocents?" he guessed. He clicked his tongue. "We should have known. If he's after our silver prince, it only makes sense that he would seek out the largest cemetery in Paris."

"We don't know for certain who those boys saw," pondered William as the two of them began to hurry to the cemetery. "It could have been Fischer _or_ Undertaker—though I doubt Undertaker would have destroyed a mausoleum as they describe. He has too much love for cemetery structures."

"Then we have to assume it's our handsome blond rogue," reasoned Grell, his voice unsteady with his running footsteps.

"Yes," agreed William. "Find the nearest phone booth, Grell. Contact our associates and wait for them, while I investigate."

"Alone? No." Grell shook his head, scattering water droplets from his bright hair with the motion. "As marvelous as you are with that pole of yours, this fellow is much more than even we can handle alone, Will. You said so yourself. We'll face him together, as lovers and—"

"Would you stop waxing poetic for five blasted seconds and _think_?" interrupted the brunet, stopping to grab his companion by the shoulders and shake him roughly. "Someone needs to bring reinforcements, and I don't trust you to investigate without approaching the fugitive. I'm going to assess the situation while you bring Ronald and Eric. I have no intention of engaging Fischer alone."

Grell looked at him uncertainly, his glasses spotted with rainwater and his brows hedged. "And what if he's done something to the Undertaker? Will you still feel the same? I've never known you to be impulsive, but—"

"I believe he can take care of himself," said William with confidence, "wherever he's gone off to. Now go and do as you're told!"

Grell shrugged elegantly. "Just remember, _I'm_ the only one that gets to reap you."

William gave him a look that sent him spinning away and running off to do his bidding. The brunet shook his head at his Grell's odd sense of jealousy, but it was part of the eccentric package that made Sutcliff who he was.

* * *

"Don't take it out on the structures!" Undertaker did his best to avoid his rival's attacks without using headstones, statues or buildings as cover, but it wasn't easy. The only other objects around were a few trees and the occasional marker fence to separate the sections of the cemetery. A cherub's head got sheered off as he ducked behind it, and he impulsively caught it and placed it carefully back on its shoulders before rolling away from the follow-up attack.

"I'm threatening to spill your intestines from your stomach, and you're busy defending the dignity of the architecture!" Dedrich paused to stare at him with amazement in his flashing, Shinigami eyes. "Have you so little regard for your own life?"

Undertaker's deadly, crescent blade swooped in low, forcing the blond to jump backwards to avoid suffering the fate he'd just threatened his opponent with. "These structures you so cavalierly chop up bear a history of death behind them," he informed passionately. "A mortal is never so loved or respected as they are when enshrouded and entombed. All the beauty of life pales in comparison to that. This is art of the ages, and I won't have you defiling it!"

Dedrich barely blocked the Undertaker's next attack, and he smiled with fierce delight at him. "Ah, so I've found your Achilles' Heel, after all. Perhaps I should make good use of that, then."

Undertaker's eyes widened when the other reaper violently kicked over an urn statue, using strength no mere human could muster. He reacted impulsively as Dedrich moved to defile an angel standing over the grave of a small family next. He leaped through the air and landed before the structure, and he kicked Dedrich in the knee while blocking his horizontal swing with his scythe. The two weapons collided and the spinning saws threw sparks as they met the snath of Undertaker's scythe. Dedrich buckled under the kick, and he backed off.

Furious now, Undertaker manifested several grave markers and chucked them at the other reaper. One of them pierced the trailing end of Fischer's cloak, and it had been hurled so violently that it penetrated the large oak behind the blond. Dedrich cursed and tried to tear free as Undertaker came at him, instinctively fighting back despite his expressed desire to die. He had, after all, insisted on making it a memorable end, and it couldn't be so if he went down easily.

"Yes, my friend," he said, laughing as he once did in their youth. "Perfect! This is what I wanted from you! This is the passion I recall from so long ago!"

"I'm not going to kill you," insisted Undertaker as he struck the blond across the face with one of the sotoba in a back-hand swing, hard enough to crack the wood and make him clutch at his face, reeling. "But your disrespect for death ground warrants a spanking, I'd wager."

"As pretty as your features are despite the scarring, you're no lady…and I only let the ladies spank me." Dedrich wiped away blood and watched him warily.

"Then I'll just have to spank your head. I'll pretend I'm playing a game of Cricket with it."

The grave marker whistled through the air as he swung it again, and Dedrich dodged aside—only to be struck by the formidable death scythe that came in from the opposite angle. The blunt end hit him in the side, but it lacked force due to the awkward, one-handed swing Undertaker was forced to use. It still knocked him off balance, and the silver-haired Shinigami followed up with more attacks, hardly giving his old friend a bare moment to recover.

Undertaker dropped his now broken grave marker and he grasped his scythe with both hands, intending to reverse it and hit him in the head with it to knock him unconscious. He spotted motion out the corner of his eye at that moment, and when he glanced at it and saw William Spears peeking out from behind a Celtic cross tombstone. He wasn't doing a particularly good job of hiding himself, but then, the expression on his normally passive face betrayed uncertainty and confusion.

Undertaker decided to make it easy on him. "Stay out of this, young agent. Allow us old fogies to hash this disagreement out."

Dedrich saw the Dispatch supervisor and he gave a ghastly, bloodied smile. "Ah, the team leader. One of your friends." He took advantage of Undertaker's brief distraction, and he grabbed a handful of grave dirt. Thankfully, Undertaker's glasses provided some protection against the sudden spray of dirt and pebbles thrown in his face, but it still sullied the lenses and compromised his vision.

Used to making due without vision correction, Undertaker wasn't as handicapped by the smudges as Dedrich might have hoped. He hopped over a kick intended to sweep his feet out from under him, and he danced away just in time to avoid the downward slash of the buzzsaw.

"You shouldn't allow your fancies to distract you," taunted Dedrich. "Mine never did."

"No, yours stayed safely buried," agreed Undertaker with a grunt, crossing his scythe to intercept another deadly attack that came close to getting him in the face. "Except for Gretchen. She's at least part of the reason you're doing this, isn't she?"

Dedrich faltered, his eyes revealing old pain and longing. They hardened again like diamonds immediately, and he shoved Undertaker away from him. "I've already explained why I'm doing this. You've always been far too curious about everything around you. I warned you about that, Undertaker. Sooner or later, that curiosity is going to land you into trouble worse than this, I imagine."

Undertaker smirked. "Forgive me if I choose not to collect the little turds of wisdom you've scattered for me. My curiosity is what keeps me from ending up like you." He pointed at him meaningfully, and he frowned when he noticed that the long nail of his pointer finger was hanging broken. He stared at it in surprise. His nails were unusually resilient, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd broken one by accident. "Huh, that's…annoying."

"Stop questioning me and finish me," challenged Dedrich, drawing Undertaker's attention back to him. "If you don't, I'll begin depriving you of the things you enjoy most, until you're as miserable and sick of life as I am!"

Instead of going for Undertaker, the rogue charged at the Shinigami agent witnessing the exchange.

* * *

William reacted immediately when he saw the danger, and he extended his scythe quickly, intending to impale the enemy reaper before he could get within range to use his buzzsaw on him. Dedrich dodged the attack quickly, and William's eyes widened as he leaped into the air, clearing the headstone. He saw the blade coming down and he fell back, trying to avoid it. He literally felt the breeze of it passing by his cheek, and he knew he was going to be in severe trouble if he didn't put some distance between himself and Fischer soon.

William dodged aside, and Fischer followed him. Undertaker was quickly closing the distance, the blade of his scythe flashing as the clouds parted long enough to allow a glimmer of moonlight to shine through. William slipped in the mud, and someone caught his arm and steadied him. He turned to see Grell's pale face grinning at him, and then he was yanked out of the way of another attack.

* * *

"Good, there are more of you," Dedrich called, not sounding the least bit cowed. "More incentive for our reluctant friend to—"

His sentence ended in a gasp of shock when a pistol fired from somewhere in the darkness, and blood spurted from the hole that appeared in his right side. He halted his attacks on William, and he placed his free hand over the fresh injury. Undertaker could have ended him right then and there, but he stayed his hand and allowed him to recover as Ciel Phantomhive came into view, with his butler close by his side. The young man's eyes shifted between cerulean blue and ruby red as he looked at the fugitive, and then they settled on Undertaker and retained their human shape and coloring.

"Undertaker," greeted the demon hybrid with a nod. The top hat he wore kept the rain off of his face, but his butler had no such protection and he somewhat resembled a damp, unhappy tomcat. "Please, carry on. Unless you prefer for our friends to take this man into custody right now."

Ciel looked to the right and to the left, where Eric Slingby and Ronald Knox stepped out of the shadows to either side of him and Sebastian.

Dedrich frowned when he saw them—especially when Ron made a double death gesture with his hands and grinned cockily. The blond turned to regard Undertaker, and he again reminded him of a simple fact that the retired reaper had already come to accept.

"You know I won't allow myself to be taken alive."

Undertaker nodded. "Yes, we've beaten that dead horse into the ground, now." He removed his glasses and he tossed them to William, who caught them and fumbled with them in surprise. "Take care of those, Mr. Spears."

Dedrich narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you your wish," answered the Undertaker, dragging his wet bangs out of his eyes. Everything was properly blurry again, and he felt his other senses sharpen almost immediately. "I'm going to kill you, Dedrich, and then I'm going to reap you."

"But you tossed aside your glasses," reasoned the blond unhappily. "How can you hope to give me the death I want, if you're going to handicap yourself?"

Undertaker grinned broadly at him. "I think in this weather, at this hour, you're the one at a disadvantage. I've been living without those glasses for some time now, Dedrich. I think I'll do better without them." He addressed the two demons and the watching Shinigami. "Now if you gents don't mind, I'd like you all to keep out of it until one of us is dead. Mr. Spears, Mr. Sutcliff, do we have an accord on that?"

The couple looked at one another, before William gave a tense, dignified nod and lowered his pruning scythe. "So long as the criminal doesn't escape."

Eric frowned at him. "But we're supposed to bring him in for processing."

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Slingby," answered William coolly.

He briefly removed his glasses to wipe the rainwater from them, but he might as well not have bothered. The rain was coming down harder again, and he frowned as it splattered the lenses again. With a sigh, he replaced them on his face. "Honestly, I was ordered to stop Fischer at all costs, and death may be the only way. Undertaker has been a great asset, and he's asked for nothing in return. As acting supervisor of this case, it is my order that we stand aside and allow him the chance to subdue the rogue, one way or the other."

Grell covered his mouth on a snicker that turned into a cough, earning a glare from the brunet. "Did I say something to amuse you, Sutcliff?"

The redhead shook his head, scattering water droplets. His voice quivered briefly before he regained control of it. "It's this dreadful rainy weather, Will. Don't be so hostile!"

Undertaker couldn't see Ronald's grimace as the youngest of them regarded him uncertainly. "Are we really going to leave it up to this old guy to handle?"

"Yes," answered William and Grell at the same time, startling the young man so that he jumped.

"Besides," reasoned Grell, "I never got the chance to see him in action, before. From what I hear, it was quite something. I feel cheated." He smiled broadly at Undertaker and he blew him a kiss. "And you know…to the victor go the spoils!"

Undertaker grinned back, and he was on the verge of answering him when Dedrich kicked him in the stomach. He gasped for breath impulsively, and he steadied himself using his scythe as a crutch, before shooting his opponent an amused look as Dedrich closed in on him, looking as though he intended to grapple with him.

"Cheater. Allow me to respond in kind."

With that said, Undertaker de-materialized his scythe temporarily, and he reached out with both hands to cup Dedrich's face in his hands. He slipped his thumbs underneath the blond's eyewear and he nudged the glasses off of his face. He immediately followed up by poking Dedrich in both eyes with his long thumbnails, making him cry out in protest and pain. Undertaker's grim smile was as shark-like as Grell's as he drove the other ancient to his knees.

"You want a memorable death," reasoned Undertaker, "and you've done everything in your power to force my hand. What sort of friend would I be, if I didn't grant your fondest wish?"

* * *

Ciel's view of the scene was abruptly cut-off as his butler's gloved hands suddenly covered his eyes. He impulsively slapped them away as Dedrich screamed in agony. When he could see again, Fischer was covering his face with both hands and there was dark blood leaking out between his fingers. Undertaker stood over him, shaking blood and goo off of his thumbs.

"Why did you _do_ that?" demanded Ciel of his butler, vexed and surprised by his actions.

Sebastian looked just as surprised as he was, and for once, Ciel was treated to the experience of seeing him flustered and uncertain of himself. "I…it would be unseemly for my master to witness such a—"

"Don't even try," interrupted Ciel, hiding his amusement. "I've seen much worse before. We will discuss your actions later, Sebastian."

The older demon bowed elegantly at the waist. "Yes, my lord."

Ciel returned his attention to the encounter happening between the retired reaper and the rogue one. Dedrich reached clumsily for his fallen scythe, his eyes streaming blood from the sockets. Undertaker bent over to take the item, and he considered it while his afflicted opponent felt around blindly.

"I swore I'd never reap you with my own scythe," announced the Undertaker, "and I don't go back on my word…not even when I make it to myself."

Undertaker activated the spinning blades, and he reached down with his free hand to offer it to the blond. "Are you _sure_, Dedrich? This will be the last time I ask." He took the other reaper's blindly groping hand in his, holding it fast. "I'm afraid you can't fight any longer, in your condition. I could go without eyes, but not you. You wore the collar for too long."

Dedrich allowed the silver-haired reaper to help him back to his feet, and he bowed his head. "Yes, I know. Well done, old friend. You've managed to rob me of the epic battle I planned. Does it salve the indignity I've caused you?"

Undertaker's smile faded. "I think we've already had our share of battles against each other, since this began. If you still insist upon it, I'll send you on your way—with your own scythe, of course."

It was impossible for Ciel not to notice the gratitude in Dedrich's tired smile, and he noticed how silent and somber the Shinigami witnesses had gotten—even Grell.

"_Ja_," said the rogue. He hardly seemed to notice his bleeding eye sockets, any longer. They were probably healing already, re-growing the eyes that Undertaker had so casually smushed to jelly, moments ago. "I suppose that's the best I can expect from you. Perhaps it wasn't fair for me to expect more."

"No, it wasn't," answered Undertaker. He looked up at their audience, and though Ciel knew he couldn't see them clearly, his green-gold gaze swept over them all. "Would you folk mind giving us a moment? This is—"

"Let them see," interrupted Fischer. "Let them bear witness, so you can never be accused of trying to let me go."

Undertaker sighed. "I see. Well then, let's get on with it."

Dedrich sank to his knees, and he tilted his head back to present his throat. Lightning flashed overhead, but the rainfall slowed to a soft drizzle. "_Danke, mein freund_."

Ciel noticed that the other reapers had bowed their heads as if at a funeral, and he glanced at Sebastian and nodded to him. He and his butler followed suite, respecting the odd ritual of execution. Undertaker brought Dedrich's scythe down and bathed the tombstone nearby with his blood. There was a thump, and Ciel shut his eyes in spite of himself and winced at the realization that it was Fischer's head. From behind his closed eyelids, he saw a glow and he realized Undertaker was drawing the cinematic records out of Dedrich's body.

He opened his eyes to the sight, and he silently witnessed the other Shinigami quietly gathering around as the Undertaker witnessed and collected Fischer's life events. Ciel caught a glimpse of a much younger Undertaker having drinks with a much younger Fischer in a pub or tavern somewhere. In truth, he probably wouldn't have known they were memories of their younger selves, if it weren't for the lack of Scars on Undertaker's face and hands and the clothing he wore. Shinigami hardly seemed to age over time. When the last stream of memories was drawn from the still body on the soggy ground, Undertaker bowed his head and said something too low for Ciel to make out.

* * *

When it was over, Undertaker handed over Fischer's glasses and scythe to William, along with the cinematic records he'd collected. Even Grell was unusually sober under the circumstances, and it didn't escape his notice that some of the sparkle was gone from Undertaker's beautiful eyes. Ronald and Eric bundled up the body and took it to headquarters via portal, leaving the paperwork to them. Ciel and Sebastian remained behind for a little while. The rain stopped, and they all stood there in uncomfortable silence in the wet, chilly air.

When Grell saw William hesitate to return the glasses that they now knew to be his originals to Undertaker, the redhead sighed and planted a hand on his hip.

"Oh, just give them to him, Will," snapped Grell. "He's already had his death scythe for all this time. I hardly thing allowing him to keep the glasses too will make a difference."

Undertaker managed a smile, and he shook his head. "I don't need them. While it was nice to see the world so clearly again, I've learned to do without them."

William frowned at the glasses in his hand, and he sighed and walked up to the funeral director, holding them out in offering. "Whether you need them or not, they are yours. It's the least we can do. Besides, the department listed them as lost. Who am I to argue with official records?"

Undertaker took the offered glasses, his smile broadening. Grell noticed the way the corners of his mouth trembled at the edges, and he understood. His smile had done that too, after he reaped Madame Red. Even for reapers and even when it was for the best, taking the life of a friend was painful. Grell looked away, empathizing with Undertaker. Mortals could never understand the inner workings of Shinigami minds, and perhaps that was a blessing. Sane mortals certainly wouldn't kill their dear friends on a whim.

"I should like my treasure and garments returned, too," remarked Undertaker, looking at Sebastian. "I trust you and your master kept them safe, for me?"

The butler nodded elegantly, somehow managing to look sinfully gorgeous, even in the drenched state he was in. "Of course. Excuse me while I retrieve them for you."

He went over to the arches surrounding the cemetery, where he collected a bundle of items. He carried them back and handed them over, with the top hat crowning them. "I thought it best that we leave them under shelter, to keep them dry. I couldn't imagine anyone sneaking up to steal them here."

Undertaker chuckled, and he put the glasses on. "That would have been an unfortunate stroke of luck, but unlikely. Thank you." He looked at William again, and Grell suppressed a grin at the way his eyes swept over the handsome brunet. "You're sure about this, Mr. Spears? Like I said: I can do without them if I need to. Try to take my scythe and we may have a disagreement, though."

William gave a bare hint of a smile. "I think the organization has given up on making you relinquish that. Our purpose here tonight has been served."

Undertaker nodded. "So then, back to the suite? I don't mind saying I could use a bath, after that." He frowned briefly again, but Shinigami learned early on in life not to allow personal feelings to choke them up, and he was no exception.

"Yes," agreed William, self-consciously brushing his hands over his damp suit. He looked to Ciel. "You have our gratitude for your help in this, Lord Dumont."

Grell's eyes were immediately drawn to Sebastian as he followed his lover's gaze to the demon couple, and he sighed. It was difficult to look at such a gorgeous creature and not lament the fact that he could never touch him intimately again, but having a hunk like William at his disposal salved the ache, somewhat.

"You recall our bargain?" Ciel asked, his young face cold and aloof.

William inclined his head. "Absolutely. Regardless of our personal feelings, I'm a man of my word. Ciel Phantomhive is dead, until you choose to reveal otherwise. We will protect your secret, as promised."

Ciel nodded in satisfaction, and he looked at the Undertaker. His expression softened a little. "And you? Do I have your word on that, as well?"

Undertaker snorted. "My boy, if there's anyone in Europe that can hold onto secrets better than I can, I should never have become an informant of your family to begin with."

Ciel's lips quirked charmingly. "Well put. I'll trust you on your word, Undertaker." He hesitated, frowning as he gathered his thoughts. "Condolences on the loss of your friend. I saw a side of you tonight that I never knew existed."

"Hmph…most people don't. Do me one favor, young friend."

Ciel nodded. "Name it."

"Keep it under your hat." Undertaker reached out and straightened up the young demon's hat as he said it, smirking fondly at him. "I've got an image to uphold, you know."

Ciel smiled a little. "Don't worry. You're still the droll, mad lunatic to me. I know that what I saw tonight was a phantom from the past."

Undertaker's smirk turned into a grin. "You have amazing vision, young Earl—and yes, I know this should be the last time I address you as such. Tricky fellow, aren't you? Do come and visit my shop anytime, if you ever find yourself in London again. I make the best licorice tea, as you recall."

"I do," agreed Ciel. He stepped back and looked to his butler. "We should probably be going now. I'll hold you all to your promise. Shall we, Sebastian?"

Sebastian's red gaze was on Undertaker, and Grell wondered if he shared his concerns over how this night would affect the elder reaper. He looked down at his master, and he nodded. "Let's. I trust these gentlemen have everything well in hand, now."

The two of them began to walk towards the exit of the cemetery, and Sebastian paused and turned to look back at the three of them. His eyes glowed as he smiled politely, and the underlying menace in his comment wasn't lost on them.

"I trust this will indeed be the last time you call on my master for help, but should you feel inclined to do so again in the future, I do hope you'll have the sense to leave his identity out of the subject matter."

"Sebastian," called Ciel up ahead, drawing the butler's attention.

"Coming, my lord."

Grell snickered behind his hand. As much as he resented Ciel Phantomhive for taking his demon love away from him, he was really starting to admire him. He really had poor Sebby wrapped around his finger.

* * *

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

"Eternity"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) fanfiction

Chapter 15: Epilogue

**_Author's note: This chapter has been censored to comply with FFnet's censorship policies. You can read the uncut version with the graphic sex scene at Ygallery or Archive of our own, both of which are linked under my profile here. _**_I want to sincerely thank everyone who has given me feedback on this little project. I've enjoyed writing it immensely, and I intend to write some short, follow-up ficlets focusing on each pairing later on, after I work on other projects. I hope you enjoyed it!_

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. **

* * *

Alan Humphries opened his eyes slowly when he felt the pressure of a masculine hand squeezing his. It took him a moment to adjust his eyes to the dimmed light, and without his glasses, everything was a blur. Still, he could recognize the face hovering over his, and he smiled up at his partner.

"Hi."

Eric smiled back in that dashing way of his that Alan always admired. "Hey. How are you feeling, kid?"

"Woozy," sighed Alan truthfully. He turned his head on the pillow and looked around. "Are my glasses anywhere nearby, by any chance?"

"Absolutely." Eric picked up a case sitting on the bedside table and he opened it to procure the requested item. He gently placed the glasses on Alan's face, earning a smile from the younger reaper as reward for his efforts. "The nurses were making a fuss about you, by the way."

"Oh?" Alan covered a yawn with his hand. "What did they say?"

"I overheard some of them talking about how cute you are," obliged Eric with a wink. "I happen to agree with them."

Alan looked away with a little chuckle, blushing at the compliment. He moved his leg and pulled the sheet aside, biting his lip with his efforts as he struggled to sit up. Eric helped him, raising the upper part of he bed to support him. When Alan saw that his foot was returned to its original location with a fresh, pink scar to mark the experience, he sighed.

"I actually had a nightmare that they put it on backwards," he confessed sheepishly. He looked at his companion when Eric laughed, and a lock of brown hair fell over his eyes. "I'll bet you wouldn't think it was so funny if it was _your_ foot!"

Eric settled his mirth with a harrumph, clearing his throat. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just so relieved to see you patched up and in good spirits. You're a little pale, but you look great." He reached out to smooth aside the errant lock of hair, and his fingertips caressed the younger reaper's face lingeringly.

Alan rubbed his cheek against the caressing hand affectionately, and he patted the bedside, scooting over. "Sit down, would you?"

Eric obliged and once he was seated on the edge of the bed, Alan put a hand on his knee. "So, tell me what happened? Did you get him?"

"Yes," answered the blond, "or at least, our retired friend did. He refused to be taken alive."

"So Undertaker killed him." Alan wasn't sure how he felt about that. It was always a grave affair when a Shinigami passed. Humans came and went like flies; their lives were so short by comparison. Shinigami were practically ageless and nearly indestructible, though. When one of them died, it was a harsh reminder that even their immortal race wasn't immune from the great equalizer.

Eric tilted his head, regarding him with his narrow eyes curiously. "You shouldn't fret over it. Neither of us even knew him. He vanished long before even I entered the academy."

"I know," sighed Alan. "I was just thinking of how it could have been any one of us. Was anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing serious," Eric assured. "In fact, Knox wants to take us out to celebrate after all the paperwork is finished and they've released you from here. Do you think you'll be up for it?"

"Are you kidding?" Alan smirked. "I've only been awake for a few minutes, and I'm ready to get out of here. A night out sounds like fun. I just wonder…" He trailed off and frowned, lowering his gaze.

"What?" Eric stroked his hair soothingly. "Something else bothering you?"

"You said Undertaker killed him," hedged Alan. He looked up at the older reaper again, absently focusing on the thin-groomed beard growth on his chin. "They used to be partners, right? Old friends."

Eric nodded. "That's right. Why does that matter?"

Alan grimaced. "He had to kill one of his oldest friends, that's why. I can't imagine having to kill _you_. What do you think that felt like, for him?"

Eric whistled softly and looked away, adopting some of Ronald's slang as he blurted the first thought that came to mind. "It probably really sucked."

"To say the least," agreed Alan. "I just hope someone's going to check in on him. Does he even have any friends he could talk to?"

Eric sighed. "I honestly couldn't tell you, but I'm sure he'll be fine. He didn't survive for all this time to just give up now, even if he's got some grief issues to work through."

He leaned over Eric and he kissed him softly on the lips. "Try not to worry, okay?"

The brunet sighed and took his hand. "I'll try."

* * *

Three days after returning to London, William stopped by to visit the Undertaker. He hesitated at the door of the shop, wondering if he was overstepping himself. He'd filed the report describing the events that led to the fugitive's death in the cemetery, and Grell and Ronald's reports backed his up. The department was satisfied with Undertaker's part in the investigation, and they agreed to cover the cost of repairs to his shop and take care of his grocery bills for two months, since he refused to take coin as payment. It was Will's understanding that the funeral director lived on a pittance, only accepting enough payment for his services to take care of his basic needs.

William believed he deserved more, and it was Grell's idea for him to visit him with a gift. While he was secretly eager to check in on Undertaker, William thought that Grell would be more welcome company for him. Undertaker seemed to genuinely like the redhead, but Grell insisted that he liked him too. As he began to knock on the door to the shop, William dearly hoped his lover was right about that. It was past business hours, but as far as he knew, Undertaker hadn't re-opened his shop yet in the first place.

He looked around absently as he waited for an answer, and he debated with himself over what he would do if there was no answer. It was possible that Undertaker was out for the night. Maybe he was at a pub somewhere, enjoying a glass of the brandy he fancied so much. He could be at the theater, or in the cemetery. Or maybe….

The dead bolt clicked on the other side of the door and William unconsciously stood up straighter as it opened to reveal his crush. He cursed his own infatuation and he told himself that Grell should be the only one his stomach did that little flip for now, but as the Undertaker smiled brightly at him in greeting, all he could think about was how perfect his teeth were, and how compelling he was. He was back in his usual combination of a black robe with overlong sleeves and the custom top hat he adored so much.

"Ah, Mr. Spears. I thought I recognized your aftershave as I approached the door."

William self-consciously touched his jaw. He'd splashed some on before leaving his apartment, but he didn't realize he'd used that much. "Is it that strong?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Some folk practically bathe in perfume to cover up body odor, but those are generally the sort that lack indoor plumbing to bathe often. I presume that isn't the case with you, however."

William flushed with embarrassment. "No, I don't fit that description. I hadn't realized it was that overpowering. I apologize if it's offensive to you."

"Not at all. I'm used to incense and chemical smells. I was just about to have some refreshment, myself. Why don't you come in for some tea?" Undertaker stepped aside and made an inviting gesture. When William hesitated, he clucked his tongue. "Come on, then. I was just teasing, about the aftershave. You really ought to lighten up." He chuckled at him.

Taking his word for it, William inclined his head and he carried the thick briefcase inside with him. Undertaker looked at it curiously, but he didn't ask about it as he gestured at a shut coffin and bade him have a seat on it. William did as invited, and Undertaker went into the back room to make the tea.

"I wanted to see how things were going for you," William called out, looking around at the interior of the shop. He noticed a newly patched spot in the ceiling and he smiled quietly. "I see they've started repairs."

"That's right," answered Undertaker. "They say they ought to be finished with it in a week or less. I'm having a proper bedroom built into the basement, too."

"So then you've found sleeping in a bed to your liking?"

"Oh, I might not turn it down if I had someone to share it with, but I still prefer my coffin," answered the older Shinigami. "Still, it might be nice to have one to sleep in now and then, so I've put in an order for a canopy bed. I can't remember the last time I had a proper bedroom of my own."

William's mind went to places best left unsaid at the mention of Undertaker sharing his bed with someone. "I hope you enjoy it," he said courteously…and then he wished he'd just kept silent. At least he'd had the sense not to ask who he would consider sharing his bed with.

Undertaker came back out with two heat resistant beakers full of tea, and William noticed that all of his nails were now neatly trimmed short. They were still as black as a demon's nails—the only visible sign of his great age—but it was quite a noticeable change now that it had come to his attention. Undertaker noticed his stare as he handed his tea over to him, and he smirked and held out his free hand once William took the beaker. He wiggled his fingers and examined the nails as he sipped his tea.

"Yes, they're so short, I know. I broke the one on the first finger of my right hand in the struggle with Dedrich, and the lack of symmetry bothered me enough to make me clip the rest of them. You'd think having short nails would make everyday things easier, but it's made me inordinately clumsy with delicate work. I can't seem to get used to it."

Guessing that might be part of the reason he hadn't re-opened shop yet, William nodded. "I can only imagine." He looked down at his own short-groomed nails. "I've never allowed mine to grow above the quick."

"Yes, you are immaculate, aren't you?"

William glanced up sharply, wondering if he'd offended the elder reaper, somehow. Undertaker was smiling teasingly at him, though. He couldn't tell if the smile reached his eyes, but he relaxed all the same. "Not always."

Undertaker snorted. "Please, William. Is your hair even capable of mussing?"

For once, William wished he could flirt like Grell. He had a powerful desire to challenge Undertaker to run his fingers through it and find out. As it was, he settled for a more reserved answer. "Of course it is."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

William fought a smile in response to the other man's teasing. "I'll have you know I woke up with a very severe case of 'bed head', this morning."

Undertaker snickered and coughed, evidently swallowing his tea the wrong way. "Oh, I would have enjoyed seeing that."

"No, it was horrible," insisted William.

"I think you're exaggerating. Muss it for me. I want to see if it will even move."

"You want me to muss my hair?" William raised a brow.

"I want you to prove it can be done." Undertaker nodded, and the trailing end of the scarf attached to his top hat swayed with the motion. "Go on, then. Prove it."

William sighed, but he truly didn't mind doing it, if it would provide some entertainment for him. He found it much easier to relax around Undertaker now. He reached up and pushed his fingers through his dark, side-parted hair.

"Do it like you mean it," insisted the Undertaker. "Scrub it, chap. Put the tea aside and do it with both hands."

William set the beaker of licorice tea down and he ruffled his hair vigorously, until the bangs he always combed so carefully to the side were in his eyes. He stopped when he felt like he'd sufficiently destroyed his hairdo, and he looked at the funeral director expectantly. "Well?"

Undertaker pressed his first two fingers against his lips, and he snickered softly. "Hmm, it appears it _is_ capable of mussing, after all. Very nice, William."

The dispatch supervisor shivered a little in reaction to the sound of his name on those lips. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn Undertaker spoke it with more warmth than he used to. He tended to address him formally, but since the case, he used his given name more and more often.

"Mind telling me what's in that thing?" Undertaker gestured at the thick briefcase at William's feet.

William looked down at it, having nearly forgotten all about it. "Oh, this. It's a projector set. Call it a personal gift of gratitude from my team and I, for your work on the case."

Undertaker bowed his head, his smile fading. "I had my reasons for helping you. The gift isn't necessary."

William regretted bringing it up. He could see that the man was putting on an act, now. His smiles weren't as unrestrained as usual, and he could have kicked himself for ignoring his instincts. He tried to salve the situation, doing his best to put aside his sense of propriety for the sake of comforting the Undertaker.

"It's nothing, really. You like Charlie Chaplain, don't you? I was able to get my hands on some reels, for you. I could set it up and show you how to operate it, if you like."

Undertaker considered him silently, until William felt the urge to squirm. "You really want to do this, do you?"

The younger reaper gathered his thoughts before responding. "It isn't just me. Grell suggested the projector. I was going to look for another book for you, or buy you a ticket to a show. Now you can watch it in the…comfort…of your home. You can project the films directly onto your wall."

Undertaker smirked dryly, and he gestured at the heavy case. "Well then, set up this contraption and show me how it works. You've got me curious."

* * *

"And when you've finished watching a reel, just use this switch to rewind it." William finished up by pointing out the switch. "You can phone me if you have any questions."

Undertaker looked curiously. "What a delightful piece of human ingenuity. This was a very generous gift."

William shrugged, self-consciously combing his hair back into place with his fingers. "We felt it was the least we could do."

"And how is your companion? I trust things are going well between the two of you?"

William nodded. "Sutcliff and I have our differences, but we manage. He would have come too, but he's on an assignment." At least, that was the excuse Grell gave him and since he wasn't privy to every individual case, Will could only presume he was telling the truth.

"Hmm, I see. Well, please extend my thanks to him, then."

William nodded, and he hesitantly decided to broach the subject of Fischer's death. "I know it isn't my business, but one of the rules that the association has always stressed is to have someone you can talk to. My department can offer counseling for you, if you wish."

Undertaker's expression went through an interesting shift, looking briefly annoyed, and then softening into something that might have been affection. "Don't worry about me."

William looked away, struggling to put a voice to his feelings, and his desire to help. "You've lived through the ages and survived things I know I could scarcely imagine, but you shouldn't be alone, now. I might have been in your place, not so long ago. If there's anyone you feel you can confide in, I'm urging you to do so…please. I…suppose I should be going, now."

Undertaker watched him as William stood up. The department director gave him a respectful nod, his gaze as sympathetic as he could allow it to be. "Please enjoy the projector, and don't hesitate to ring me up if you have any trouble with it. Grell or I will return in a few days to check in on you."

"Oh will you?" Undertaker's voice bore a faint challenge.

William paused near the door, and he looked back at him. "Yes. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. Forgive me it's too bold, but we have an interest in your well-being."

He bowed formally, and he turned again. Just as his hand curled around the doorknob, Undertaker spoke again, his voice giving him pause.

"I tossed aside my glasses so that I wouldn't have to see him clearly, as I did it," confessed the elder reaper, "and I took his eyes so that he couldn't see _me_ doing it at all. I didn't want to feel his gaze on me."

William turned in full to regard him, and he found that the funeral director had removed his hat and now held it clutched in his hands. Undertaker shook his bangs aside to peer at him, probably unable to make out more than a man-shaped blur from this distance.

"Cowardly of me, I know." Undertaker looked down at the hat in his hands, and he rotated the brim restlessly, thoughtlessly. "Now you can cease your hero worship, Mr. Spears. I couldn't look my partner in the eye while I finished him."

William approached him somberly. He wasn't good at giving people comfort. His most notable talents had always been to keep his emotions safely boxed up and get the job done quickly and efficiently. Now, he needed to reach out to this ancient that he admired so much, and he could think of only thing to say to him.

"You granted his final wish, at your own expense. His suffering is finished, but Shinigami memories are long, and our lives are even longer. You're no coward, Undertaker. You are a man who cared enough to give a friend what he wanted, despite the pain it would cause you. Making it a bit easier on yourself wasn't a craven act, on your part. It was sensible. I honestly don't know if I could have done the same, in your place."

Undertaker looked strangely uncertain of himself, and then he closed the distance between them. He peered into his eyes through disheveled locks of silver hair. "I'm impressed, Mr. Spears. What you lack in a sense of humor, you make up for with vision. I'm beginning to understand Mr. Sutcliff's attraction to you."

William couldn't have moved if he tried. "I can…empathize with what you had to do."

Undertaker tilted his head. "I suppose you can." He moved in closer, his lips a bare inch away from the brunet's. "I'd like to thank you for that part. Shall I do it with a proper handshake, or would you prefer something a bit more intimate and less proper?"

The words tumbled out before William could stop them. "Intimate, please."

The silver reaper grinned, and his mouth covered William's in a kiss. It was firm, sensual and animated all at once. William felt that knee-buckling sensation he'd only experienced once before, when he and Grell first kissed. He impulsively put his arms around Undertaker's waist and pulled him closer, responding to the kiss with passion he couldn't contain. The taller man made a faintly surprised sound in his throat, and his ardent mouth smiled against William's as if in approval. His tongue lanced into the brunet's mouth to stroke his, and William groaned softly, caressing it back.

Undertaker sampled the taste of his lips and mouth for a few heartbeats more, before breaking the kiss and stepping away with a mischievous grin. "I envy Mr. Sutcliff's good fortune, William. I wasn't quite sure I believed him, when he described how passionate you are beneath that cold exterior."

William was trembling, finding it hard to catch his breath and maintain some semblance of dignity. "I…apologize. I shouldn't have gotten so…so…"

Undertaker clicked his tongue and chuckled softly. "You've nothing to apologize for, William. _I_ kissed _you_. Your reaction to it was anything but unpleasant. For such a straight-laced fellow, you have a surprisingly amorous kiss. I would almost be inclined to roll and enjoy a cigar, after that."

William flushed at the compliment to his kissing skills. "I should go, now. Have a good evening, Undertaker."

He left in a hurry, even more confused by the kiss. He wondered if Grell was really serious about the suggestions he'd made concerning Undertaker, and he wondered if he could act on such an arrangement. He didn't see Undertaker waving at him with a broad grin as he left the shop and walked rapidly away from it.

* * *

Undertaker locked up behind his departing guest, and he went to his desk and sat down. He picked up his phone and he dragged it into his lap as he leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on the edge of the desk. He dialed a number and he smiled when a familiar voice answered.

"Good evening. That was quite the gift, I must say. I wasn't expecting that, when you said he would be dropping by with a present. Yes, of course…we had tea and we talked."

He frowned at that, recalling the way he'd opened up to William without consciously trying to. He needed to be more careful about that sort of thing. The handsome brunet was, after all, one of the staunchest agents of the Shinigami dispatch society.

"Oh yes," he answered when he was asked a question, "I did, and I believe you, now. It was quite…intriguing. No, I had my taste and then I sent him on his way. He should be returning to you shortly."

Undertaker laughed at the exclamation on he other end of the line. "Patience, my delicate rose. We can't rush these things, can we? Yes, I can at least agree that I'm interested…in _both_ of you. I can wait. Death knows, I've gone without for years as it is."

Undertaker smiled at the litigious suggestion made by the other, in response. "Yes, I will…and what sweet dreams they'll be. Goodnight, Grell."

He hung up the phone, smiling softly to himself. "Well, Dedrich, I may have found a pleasant distraction. I can forgive you because I know the suffering of boredom, but I won't become a living corpse in honor of your memory. I can still find reasons to laugh."

He looked at the projector set up on the coffin where William had been sitting, minutes ago. In fact, he had one source of laughter from his favorite movie actor, waiting for him to enjoy.

* * *

Ciel walked the streets of Paris, replaying the conversation he'd had with Sebastian when they returned home, after Fischer's death.

"Why did you cover my eyes like that, Sebastian? Even as a child, I was accustomed to violence."

_"I...have no excuse, really. It just seemed like the right thing to do, at the time."_

_"Sebastian…"_

_"Oh, very well. I thought it might upset you, to see the Undertaker do such a thing. I...didn't want your perception of him sullied."_

Ciel shook his head and smirked. In other words, Sebastian was trying to protect him—as he'd been doing since the day they made their contract. Ordinarily, Sebastian had no care for whether Ciel witnessed violence or not. He'd asked him to shut his eyes once before, when he didn't want him to see him in his full demonic form. In a strange way, Ciel supposed the situation with Undertaker was much the same. He knew his butler would deny it to his very core if he were accused of doing it out of compassion, but Ciel knew better. While his nature was inherently evil, Sebastian himself was oddly neutral, and he'd demonstrated a capacity for kindness—when it came to Ciel. He was either coldly amused or indifferent to nearly everyone else.

The young man lowered his gaze and smiled softly to himself. Sebastian had shared his body with others before him, but never his affection. That belonged only to Ciel, and now, so did his body. He thought about all of the things Sebastian had taught him about lovemaking, since the night they first lay together. He felt warmed from head to toe as he recalled the way he'd gasped, and the way his deep voice had encouraged him with breathless patience, teaching him how to move his body for the best results when "topping". Soon, it would be Ciel's turn to be in that role, taking his lover's hard length deep into his body, clinging to him as he…

"God, I've become as perverted as Grell," muttered Ciel, blushing at the vivid fantasy now playing in his distracted mind.

He wanted to give himself to Sebastian—more than he could ever admit out loud. He knew that if anyone could make the experience enjoyable for him, it was Sebastian. He just needed to work up the courage to tell him he was ready, and the fortitude not to flinch every time he touched his nethers. Sebastian would never go through with it if he thought Ceil had any doubts. He needed to convince him that even if he instinctively tensed or flinched, he was willing and ready.

Ciel paused at the window of a pet shop, noticing the sign.

"Kittens," he read aloud, "free to a good home. Hmph, it's a good thing Sebastian isn't with me."

The butler was on the other side of town, conducting business with a representative from the Funtom Company. Ciel never made personal appearances in business meetings with colleagues from England, on the off chance that they might recognize him. He sent Sebastian in his stead, and he finalized things through paperwork and telephone correspondence.

One of the kittens in the window put its front paws against the glass and stood up on wobbly back legs, drawing Ciel's gaze to it. The little mouth opened as the feline meowed at him, and he sighed. Sebastian would absolutely melt, if he saw that face. She was solid black, with jade green eyes. She was perfect for Sebastian, and he wouldn't have been able to resist. Fortunately, Ciel harbored no such weakness in his heart. He started to turn away, but then an image sprang unbidden to his mind. He could so easily imagine his butler scooping the furry little creature up and cradling her, displaying a gentle affection that would shock and bother those who knew him as the cold demon butler.

Ciel looked back at the shop window, biting his lip uncertainly. "I must be mad to even consider it," he muttered to himself. Despite his misgivings, he found his footsteps taking him to the shop door.

* * *

They met up at the carriage later on, and Sebastian noticed that his young master seemed strangely pleased with himself.

"You seem satisfied," he remarked as he opened the door for Ciel. There usual driver wasn't available for the day, so Sebastian was serving as coachman. He noticed the young man held a small package in his hand. "Did you find a good bargain, my lord?"

Ciel glanced down at the item in his gloved hand, and he shrugged. "Not bad. This is a wedding gift I intend to send to Elizabeth. Nothing fancy, merely a butterfly broach I knew she would appreciate. I'm still toying with the idea of attending—as Dumont, of course…not Phantomhive."

"Of course." Sebastian nodded. "I'm certain my master has considered the risks in such an endeavor, though."

Ciel sighed and nodded, his blue gaze troubled for a moment. "Oh, he has. No worries about that. Even if the rest of Lizzie's family and our old family associates buy it, _she_ may not. No matter how well I put on a French accent, no matter how perfectly I play my role, she may see through it. She was, after all, my dearest friend."

"And she may question why she—your cousin—never heard of a distant French cousin also named Ciel," reasoned Sebastian.

"Yes, there is _that_, too. For all her silly moments, Elizabeth isn't a fool. Keeping secrets from her was never easy."

"She did always have a tendency to dance toward the truth, whether intentional or not." Sebastian smirked. "Nevertheless, if you truly wish to attend her wedding, I have faith that you'll manage to divert her questions and improvise as necessary."

"One can hope," answered Ciel. He climbed into the carriage and looked out at Sebastian as the butler prepared to close the door and climb into the coachman's seat to drive. "Oh, I'm having one other thing delivered tomorrow, before noon. I think you'll find it to your liking."

Sebastian raised a brow elegantly. "Oh? What might this thing be, if I might ask?"

Ciel gave him a sly little smirk. "You'll see."

He wasn't sure he liked that response, but Sebastian wasn't the sort to play along with games like this. He bowed. "As my lord wishes. I shall wait patiently to see your surprise. I just hope it matches the interior décor, whatever it is."

Ciel's mouth twisted briefly. "We'll see."

Sebastian vaguely wondered what that meant, but he knew his master would part with no more information. He secured the door and climbed into the coachman's seat. With a flick of the reins, they were off.

* * *

Later that evening, Ciel came out of the bathroom drying his hair, and he paused at the threshold of the master bedroom he was now sharing with his servant. Sebastian was in there, standing over the tea tray. He prepared to pour a cup of the hot beverage for him, but Ciel stopped him.

"Don't worry about that tonight," insisted Ciel. He stopped drying his hair and he draped the towel around his neck, gathering his courage. "Come here, Sebastian."

The raven-haired man smirked and approached as bidden. He stopped before him and looked down at him with intrigued crimson eyes. He reached out to comb his fingers through Ciel's damp hair, smoothing it into place.

"You're due for another trim soon, I think," murmured Sebastian.

"We can do that tomorrow," Ciel said. Thinking of the package he was having delivered, he revised his statement. Sebastian would most likely be too distracted once it arrived to concentrate on the task, and Ciel could end up bald. "In the morning, after I brush my teeth. We'll get it done before noon. For now, we have more pleasant things to think about."

Ciel boldly reached up to loosen Sebastian's tie, holding his gaze as he did so. The butler stopped stroking his hair and he tugged his gloves off, dropping them onto the side table by the door. He put his arms around Ciel's waist and he lowered his mouth to his obligingly when the young man tugged on his tie. Ciel stopped him just before their mouths touched, pressing two fingers against the taller demon's sensitive lips.

"Tonight is going to be different, Sebastian. It's time to finish consummating our relationship."

The flash of lust in the butler's eyes left little doubt that he knew exactly what Ciel was alluding to, and his whispered response confirmed it. "You're certain, Master?" His hands stroked Ciel's back, and they slowly moved down to rest on his bottom. He urged him closer, giving his ass a little squeeze.

Feeling the evidence against his hip of the effect his promise had on Sebastian, Ciel smirked. "Of course, I am. I told you that I wouldn't bring it up again until I knew it was time, and it's time."

Rudely shoving his lingering anxiety to the back of his mind, Ciel cupped the back of Sebastian's head demandingly and he kissed him. The aggression behind his kiss softened as Sebastian kissed him back, and he made himself relax as the butler untied his robe and parted it. He didn't flinch when the butler's hands slipped into the opening and settled on his torso—a good sign. He trembled impulsively as usual, but he didn't feel that sense of panic nagging at the edge of his conscience, the way he had the last time he tried to give himself to Sebastian.

This was Sebastian…_his_ Sebastian. This demon had delivered him from his tormentors and doled out his vengeance on them. He would never hurt him, and he would never force him. As Sebastian began to back him toward the bed, a thought came to Ciel that was entirely foreign to his human way of thinking, yet it made perfect sense to him as a demon.

Sebastian was about to become his mate. Once they shared themselves entirely with each other, the bond they shared would evolve into something even stronger than the Faustian brands.

The unbidden thought felt so…right, and so perfect. Ciel put his arms around the butler's neck and he wrapped his legs around him, gasping with excitement. That old, damning anxiety rose to the surface again as Sebastian laid him down on the bed and covered his body with his, but Ciel deliberately focused on the feel of the other man's hardened crotch rubbing against his naked erection through the trousers he still wore. He didn't think about the last time another man's weight lay against him like this, before he and Sebastian's relationship took another turn.

Ciel pulled Sebastian's tie off and flicked it away, shaking his hand irritably when it clung to his wrist like an annoying snake. He started to unbutton his shirt, his heart pounding heavily as thoughts of what was to come heightened both lust and anxiety. For his part, Sebastian was quite gentle and patient, as usual. He caressed Ciel's exposed nudity with care, taking his time before moving on to the more sensitive parts.

Ciel shut his eyes and murmured with pleasure when the questing lips tugged at his earlobe, and he gasped with pleasure when Sebastian's fingers teased his nipples. He got the shirt and jacket open, and Sebastian eased out of them with inhuman grace, quickly discarding them to the floor. His free hand slipped between the press of their bodies to cup Ciel's stiffened groin, and the young man tensed instinctively. Sebastian kissed him on the mouth, sliding his tongue in to caress his coaxingly whilst leaving his palm resting intimately over his cock.

"It's me, bocchan," soothed the butler huskily, breaking the kiss to murmur against his lips.

"I know," answered Ciel, swallowing. He deliberately made himself relax for him, knowing that too much expressed hesitation on his part would ruin things. "I'm not worried."

Sebastian's mouth smiled against his. "You are, but I understand. I promise to make this experience everything it _should_ be, Ciel."

Hearing him speak his name again like that had a relaxing effect on Ciel. He ran his hands over the pale splendor of Sebastian's toned, lean chest and torso, gazing into his eyes as he pulled back to look down at him. "Don't stop. Not this time."

"If that is your wish, then I'm happy to oblige."

* * *

Long after Ciel had fallen asleep, Sebastian lay on his side watching him. He occasionally reached out to trace the pale, elegant features with a fingertip, admiring the blend of pretty and masculine in them. Ciel had certainly grown into a fine young man, and though he was in many ways inferior to pure demons like Sebastian, he was nonetheless turning out to be the perfect mate. Sebastian had no use for a fawning partner that let him have his way at every turn, nor did he want an unbending control fanatic that could never give an inch. Ciel balanced it nicely, as he'd demonstrated when they joined. Sebastian wasn't sure he could allow himself to submit to him like that, but he'd proven him wrong.

If Ciel could see the crafty smile now gracing his butler's lips, he would have been immediately suspicious. What he didn't know would never hurt him. Sebastian brushed a lock of blue-highlighted hair away from Ciel's eyes and he leaned over him to nuzzle his cheek, before easing out of bed to get an early start on the day's chores. Satisfied that he'd turned his own unfortunate situation into something good for him, Sebastian left his slumbering mate, tucking him in before leaving the room.

"I groomed you well, Ciel," he whispered into the dark as he tied his robe closed and shut the door behind him.

* * *

-The End


End file.
